V 


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THE 


WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD 


v<7 


BY 


ELIZABETH  WETHERELL 


SIXTH  EDITION 


Here  at  the  portal  thou  dost  stand. 

And  with  thy  little  hand 
Thou  openest  the  mysterious  gate, 

Into  the  future's  undiscovered  land 

I  see  its  valves  espand, 
As  at  the  touch  of  Fate  ! 
Into  those  realms  of  Love  and  Hate. 

LONGFELLO'JI 


VOLUME  II. 

N  E  W  -  Y  0  R  K  : 
GEORGE    P.    PUTNAI^r,    155  BUOADWAY. 

18  5  1. 


Entered,  according  ^  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1850,  by 

GEORGE  P.  PUTNAM, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District  of 
New- York. 


CONTENTS  OP  CHAPTERS 


VOLUME  II. 

Pag< 

Chapter  XXIX.  Stockings,  to  which  the  "  Bas  Bleu"  was  nothing,   .  3 


XXX.  Sunday  at  Ventnor,  .  .         .  12 

XXXI.  Flowers  and  Thorns,  .         .         .         .  23 

XXXII.  The  bank-note  and  George  Washington,         .  37 

XXXIII.  A  gathering  cloud  in  the  spring  weather,    .         .  47 

XXXIV.  The  cloud  overhead,  ....  56 
XXXV.  This "  working-day  world,"  .         .  .71 

XXXVI.  The  Brownie,  91 

XXXVII.  Timothy  and  his  master,      .         .         .  .102 
XXXVIII.  Wherein  the  Black  Prince  arrives  opportunely,  117 
XXXIX.  Halcyon  days,  .         .         .         .  .130 

XL.  « Prodigious !"     .         .         .         .  146 
XLI.  "  The  clouds  return  after  the  rain,"  .         .  156 

XLII.  One  less  in  the  wide,  wide  world,  •         .  168 

XLIII.  Those  that  were  left,  180 

XLIV.  The  little  spirit  that  haunted  the  big  house,  192 
XLV.  The  guardian  angel,  .....  209 
XLVI.  "  Something  turns  up,"   ....  226 
XLVII.  The  wide  world  grown  wider,  .  .  .  244 


hr  CONTENTS. 

Page 

Chap    XLVIII.  How  old  friends  were  inyestedwith  the  Regalia,  260 

XLIX.  Thought  is  free,        .         .  .279 

L.  Trials  without,      .         ,         ,         .          ,  292 

LI.  Trials  within,           .         •                  *  304 

LU  "Thou!"   .                 .        ,        .         .  315 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

As  bees  flee  hame  wi'  lades  o'  treasure, 
The  minutes  winged  their  way  wi'  pleasure. 
Kings  may  be  blest,  but  thmj  were  glorious, 
O'er  all  the  ills  o'  life  victorious. 

Burns. 


Christmas  morning  was  dawning  gray,  but  it  was  still  far 
from  broad  daylight,  when  Ellen  was  awakened.  She  found 
little  Ellen  Chauncey  pulling  and  pushing  at  her  shoulders, 
and  whispering  "  Ellen  !  Ellen  !" — in  a  tone  that  showed  a 
great  fear  of  waking  somebody  up.  There  she  was,  in  night- 
gown and  nightcap,  and  barefooted  too,  with  a  face  brim-full 
of  excitement  and  as  wide  awake  as  possible.  Ellen  roused 
herself  in  no  little  surprise  and  asked  what  the  matter  was. 

"  I  am  going  to  look  at  my  stocking,"  whispered  her 
visiter, — "  don't  you  want  to  get  up  and  come  with  me  ?  it's 
just  here  in  the  other  room, — come  ! — don't  make  any  noise." 

"  But  what  if  you  should  find  nothing  in  it?"  said  Ellen 
laughingly,  as  she  bounded  out  of  bed. 

Ah  but  I  shall,  I  know ; — I  always  do ; — never  fear. 
Hush  !  step  ever  so  softly — I  don't  want  to  wake  anybody." 

"  It's  hardly  light  enough  for  you  to  see,"  whispered 
Ellen,  as  the  two  little  barefooted  white  figures  glided  out  of 
the  room. 

"  0  yes  it  is — that's  all  the  fun.  Hush ! — don't  make  a 
bit  of  noise — I  know  where  it  hangs — mamma  always  puts  it 
at  the  back  of  her  big  easy  chair — come  this  way — here  it  is  ! 
0  Ellen  !  there's  two  of  'em  !  There's  one  for  you  !  there's 
one  for  you !" 

In  a  tumult  of  delight  one  Ellen  capered  about  the  floor 
on  the  tips  of  her  httle  bare  toes,  while  the  other,  not  less 
happy,  stood  still  for  pleasure.  The  dancer  finished  by  hug- 
ging and  kissing  her  with  all  her  heart,  declaring  she  was  so 
glad  she  didn't  know  what  to  do. 


4 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


"  But  how  shall  we  know  which  is  which  ?" 
Perhaps  they  are  both  alike,"  said  Ellen. 

"  No — at  any  rate  one's  for  me,  and  t'other's  for  you. 
Stop !  here  are  pieces  of  paper,  with  our  names  on  I  guess — 
let's  turn  the  chair  a  little  bit  to  the  light — there — yes  ! — El- 
len— M-o-n, — there,  that's  yours  ;  my  name  doesn't  begin 
with  an  M  ;  and  this  is  mine  !" 

Another  caper  round  the  room,  and  then  she  brought  up 
in  front  of  the  chair  where  Ellen  was  still  standing. 

"  I  wonder  what's  in  'em,"  she  said ;  "  I  want  to  look,  and 
I  don't  want  to.    Come,  you  begin." 

"  But  that's  no  stocking  of  mine,"  said  Ellen,  a  smile 
gradually  breaking  upon  her  sober  little  face  ;  "  my  leg  never 
was  as  big  as  that." 

"  Stuffed,  isn't  it  ?"  said  Ellen  Chauncey.  "  0  do  make 
haste,  and  see  what  is  in  yours.  I  want  to  know  so  I  don't 
know  what  to  do." 

"  Well,  will  you  take  out  of  yours  as  fast  as  I  take  out  of 
mine  ?" 

»  Well !"  

O  mysterious  delight,  and  delightful  mysteiy,  of  the  stuffed 
stocking  !  Ellen's  trembhng  fingers  sought  the  top,  and  then 
very  suddenly  left  it. 

"  I  can't  think  what  it  is,"  said  she  laughing, — "  it  feels 
so  funny." 

"  0  never  mind  !  make  haste,"  said  Ellen  Chauncey  ;  "  it 
won't  hurt  you.I  guess." 

"  No,  it  won't  hurt  me,"  said  Ellen, — "  but  " — 

She  drew  forth  a  great  bunch  of  white  grapes. 

"  Splendid  !  isn't  it  ?"  said  Ellen  Chauncey.  "  Now  for 
mine." 

It  was  the  counterpart  of  Ellen's  bunch. 
"  So  far,  so  good,"  said  she.    "  Now  for  the  next." 
The  next  thing  in  each  stocking  was  a  large  horn  of  sugar- 
plums. 

"  Well  that's  fine,  isn't  it  ?"  said  Ellen  Chauncey  ; — "  your's 
is  tied  with  white  ribbon  and  mine  with  blue ;  that's 
fill  the  difierence.  0,  and  your  paper's  red  and  mine  is 
purple." 

Yes,  and  the  pictures  nre  different,"  said  Ellen. 
"Well,  I  had  rather  they  would  be  different,  wouldn't 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


5 


you  ?  I  think  it's  just  as  pleasant.  One's  as  big  as  the  other, 
at  any  rate.    Come — what's  next  ?" 

Ellen  drew  out  a  little  bundle,  which  being  opened  proved 
to  be  a  nice  little  pair  of  dark  kid  gloves. 

"01  wonder  who  gave  me  this  !"  she  said, — "  it's  just 
what  I  wanted.  How  pretty  !  0  I'm  so  glad.  I  guess  who 
it  was." 

"  0  look  here,"  said  the  other  Ellen,  who  had  been  diving 
into  her  stocking, — "  I've  got  a  ball — this  is  just  what  I 
wanted  too ;  George  told  me  if  I'd  get  one  he'd  show  me 
how  to  play.  Isn't  it  pretty  ?  Isn't  it  funny  we  should  each 
get  just  what  we  wanted  ?  0  this  is  a  very  nice  ball.  I'm 
glad  I've  got  it.  Why  here  is  another  great  round  thing  in 
my  stocking  ! — what  can  it  be  ?  they  wouldn't  give  me  two 
balls,"  said  she,  chuckling. 

.  "  So  there  is  in  mine  !"  said  Ellen.  Maybe  they're 
apples?" 

"  They  aren't !  they  wouldn't  give  us  apples  ;  besides,  it  is 
soft.    Pull  it  out  and  see." 

"  Then  they  are  oranges,"  said  Ellen  laughing. 

"/never  felt  such  a  soft  orange,"  said  little  Ellen  Chaun- 
cey.    "  Come  Ellen  !  stop  laughing,  and  let's  see." 

They  were  two  great  scarlet  satin  pincushions,  with  E.  C. 
and  E.  M.  very  neatly  stuck  in  pins. 

"  Well,  we  sha'n't  want  pins  for  a  good  while,  shall  we  ?" 
said  Ellen.    "  Who  gave  us  these  ?" 

"  I  know,"  said  little  Ellen  Chauncey, — "  Mrs.  Bland." 

"  She  was  very  kind  to  make  one  for  me,"  said  Ellen. 

Now  for  the  next !" 

Her  next  thinor  was  a  little  bottle  of  Coloorne  water. 

"  I  can  tell  who  put  that  in,"  said  her  friend, — "  aunt 
Sophia.  I  know  her  little  bottles  of  Cologne  water.  Do 
you  love  Cologne  water  ?    Aunt  Sophia's  is  delicious." 

Ellen  did  like  it  very  much,  and  was  extremely  pleased. 
Ellen  Chauncey  had  also  a  new  pair  of  scissors  which  gave 
entire  satisfaction. 

"  Now  I  wonder  what  all  this  toe  is  stuffed  with,"  said 
she, — "  raisins  and  almonds,  I  declare  !  and  yours  the  same, 
jsn't  it  ?  Well,  don't  you  think  we  have  got  enough  sweet 
things  ?    Isn't  this  a  pretty  good  Christmas  ?" 

"  What  are  you  about,  you  monkeys  ?"  cried  the  voice  of 


6 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


aunt  Sophia  from  the  dressing-room  door.    "  Alice,  Alice 
do  look  at  them.    Come,  right  back  to  bed  both  of  you. 
Crazy  pates  !    It  is  lucky  it  is  Christmas  day — if  it  was  any 
other  in  the  year  we  should  have  you  both  sick  in  bed  ;  as  it 
is  I  suppose  you  will  go  scot  free." 

Laughing,  and  rosy  with  pleasure,  they  came  back  and  got 
into  bed  together ;  and  for  an  hour  afterwards  the  two  kept 
up  a  most  animated  conversation,  intermixed  with  long 
chuckles  and  bursts  of  merriment,  and  whispered  communi- 
cations of  immense  importance.  The  arrangement  of  the 
painted  needlebook  was  entirel}'  decided  upon  in  this  consul- 
tation ;  also  two  or  three  other  matters ;  and  the  two  chil- 
dren seemed  to  have  already  lived  a  day  since  daybreak  by 
the  time  they  came  down  to  breakfast. 

After  breakfast  Ellen  applied  secretly  to  Alice  to  know  if 
she  could  w^rite  very  beautifully  ;  she  exceedingly  wanted 
something  done. 

"  I  should  not  like  to  venture,  Ellie,  if  it  must  be  so  super- 
fine ;  but  John  can  do  it  for  you." 

"  Can  he  ?    Do  you  think  he  would  ?" 
I  am  sure  he  will  if  you  ask  him." 

"  But  1  don't  like  to  ask  him,"  said  Ellen,  casting  a  doubt- 
ful glance  at  the  window. 

Nonsense  !  he's  only  reading  the  newspaper.  You  won't 
disturb  him." 

"  Well  you  won't  say  anything  about  it  ?" 

"  Certainly  not." 

Ellen  accordingly  went  near  and  said  gently,  Mr.  Hum- 
phreys,"— but  he  did  not  seem  to  hear  her.  "Mr.  Hum- 
phreys !" — a  little  louder. 

"  He  has  not  arrived  yet,"  said  John,  looking  round  gravely. 

He  spoke  so  gravely  that  Ellen  could  not  tell  whether  he 
were  joking  or  serious.  Her  face  of  extreme  perplexity  was 
too  much  for  his  command  of  countenance.  "  Whom  do  you 
want  to  speak  to  ?"  said  he,  smiling. 

"  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  "  if  you  are 
not  too  busy." 

"  i^lr.  Humphreys  is  always  busy,"  said  he,  shaking  his 
head  ;  "  but  Mr.  John  can  attend  to  you  at  any  time,  and  John 
will  do  for  you  whatever  you  please  to  ask  him." 

"  Then,  Mr.  John,"  said  Ellen  laughing,  "  if  you  please  I 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


r 


wanted  to  ask  you  to  do  something  for  me  veiy  much  in- 
deed, if  you  are  not  too  busy ;  Ahce  said  I  shouldn't  disturb 
you." 

"  Not  at  all ;  I've  been  long  enough  over  this  stupid  news- 
paper.   What  is  it?" 

"  I  want  you,  if  you  will  be  so  good,"  said  Ellen,  "  to  write 
a  little  bit  for  me  on  something,  very  beautifully." 

«  <  Very  beautifully !'  Well— come  to  the  library ;  we  will 
Bee." 

"  But  it  is  a  great  secret,"  said  Ellen ;  "  you  won't  tell  any- 
body ?" 

"  Tortures  sha'n't  draw  it  from  me — when  I  know  what  it 
is,"  said  he,  with  one  of  his  comical  looks. 

In  high  glee  Ellen  ran  for  the  pieces  of  Bristol  board  which 
were  to  form  the  backs  of  the  needlebook,  and  brought  them 
to  the  library  ;  and  explained  how  room  was  to  be  left  in  the 
middle  of  each  for  a  painting,  a  rose  on  one,  a  butterfly  on  the 
other ;  the  writing  to  be  as  elegant  as  possible,  above,  be- 
neath, and  roundabout,  as  the  fancy  of  the  writer  should 
choose. 

"  Well,  what  is  to  be  inscribed  on  this  most  original  of 
needlebooks  ?"  said  John,  as  he  carefully  mended  his  pen. 

Stop  !" — said  Ellen, — I'll  tell  you  in  a  minute — on  this 
one,  the  front  you  know,  is  to  go,  '  To  my  dear  mother,  many 
happy  New  Years  ;' — and  on  this  side,  *  From  her  dear  little 
daughter,  Ellen  Chauncey.'  You  know,"  she  added,  "  Mrs. 
Chauncey  isn't  to  know  anything  about  it  till  New  Year's  Day  ; 
nor  anybody  else." 

"  Trust  me,"  said  John.  If  I  am  asked  any  quetions  they 
shall  find  me  as  obscure  as  an  oracle." 

"  What  is  an  oracle,  sir  ?" 
Why,"  said  John,  smiling,  "  this  pen  won't  do  yet — the 
old  heathens  believed  there  were  certain  spots  of  earth  to 
which  some  of  their  gods  had  more  favor  than  to  others,  and 
where  they  would  permit  mortals  to  come  nearer  to  them,  and 
would  even  deign  to  answer  their  questions." 
And  did  they  ?"  said  Ellen. 

"  Did  they  what  ?" 

"  Did  they  answer  their  questions  ?" 

"  Did  who  answer  their  questions  ?" 

"  The — oh !  to  be  sure,"  said  Ellen, — "  there  were  no  such 


8 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


gods.  But  what  made  people  think  they  ans  w^ered  them  ? 
and  how  could  they  ask  questions  ?" 

"  I  suppose  it  was  a  contrivance  of  the  priests  to  increase 
their  power  and  wealth.  There  was  always  a  temple  built 
near,  with  priests  and  priestesses  ;  the  questions  were  put 
through  them  ;  and  they  would  not  ask  them  except  on  great 
occasions,  or  for  people  of  consequence  who  could  pay  them 
well  by  making  splendid  gifts  to  the  god." 

"  But  I  should  think  the  people  would  have  thought  the 
priest  or  priestess  had  made  up  the  answers  themselves." 

"  Perhaps  they  did  sometimes.  But  people  had  not  the 
Bible  then,  and  did  not  know  as  much  as  we  know.  It  was 
not  unnatural  to  think  the  gods  would  care  a  little  for  the 
poor  people  that  lived  on  the  earth.  Besides,  there  was  a 
good  deal  of  management  and  trickery  about  the  answers  of 
the  oracle  that  helped  to  deceive." 

"  How  was  it?"  said  Ellen  ; — "  how  could  they  manage  ? 
and  what  was  the  oracle  V 

*'  The  oi  acle  was  either  the  answer  itself,  or  the  god  who 
was  supposed  to  give  it,  or  the  place  where  it  was  given  ;  and 
there  were  different  Avays  of  managing.  At  one  place  the 
priest  hid  himself  in  the  hollow  body  or  among  the  branches 
of  an  oak  tree,  and  people  thought  the  tree  spoke  to  them. 
Sometimes  the  oracle  was  delivered  by  a  woman  who  pre- 
tended to  be  put  into  a  kind  of  fit — tearing  her  hair  and  beat- 
ing her  breast." 

*'  But  suppose  the  oracle  made  a  mistake  ? — what  would 
the  people  think  then  ?' 

"  The  answers  were  generally  contrived  so  that  they  would 
seem  to  come  true  in  any  event." 

"  I  don't  see  how  they  could  do  that,"  said  Ellen. 

"Very  well — ^just  imagine  that  I  am  an  oracle,  and  come 
to  me  with  some  question  ; — I'll  answer  you." 

"  But  you  can't  tell  what's  going  to  happen  ?" 
No  matter — vou  ask  me  truly  and  I'll  answer  you  oracu- 
larly." 

That  means,  like  an  oracle,  I  suppose  ?"  said  Ellen.  "  Well 
— Mr.  John,  will  Alice  be  pleased  with  what  I  am  going  to 
give  her  New  Year  ?" 

"  She  will  be  pleased  with  what  she  will  receive  on  that  day." 

**Ah  but,"  said  Ellen  laughing,  "that  isn't  fair;  you 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


9 


haven't  answered  me  :  perhaps  somebody  else  "will  give  her 
something,  and  then  she  might  be  pleased  with  that  and  not 
with  mine." 

"  Exactly — but  the  oracle  never  means  to  be  understood." 

'*  Well  I  won't  come  to  you,"  said  Ellen.  "  I  don't  like 
such  answers.    Now  for  the  needlebook  !" 

Breathlessly  she  looked  on  while  the  skillful  pen  did  its 
work  ;  and  her  exclamations  of  delight  and  admiration  when 
the  first  cover  was  handed  to  her  were  not  loud  but  deep. 

"  It  will  do  then,  will  it  ?  Now  let  us  see — '  From  her 
dear  little  daughter,' — there — now  *  Ellen  Chauncey'  I  sup- 
pose must  be  in  hieroglyphics." 

*'In  what?"  said  Ellen. 

"  I  mean,  written  in  some  difficult  character." 

"  Yes,"  said  Ellen.    "  But  what  was  that  you  said  ?" 

Hieroglyphics  ?" 
Ellen  added  no  more,  though  she  was  not  satisfied.  He 
looked  up  and  smiled. 

"  Do  you  want  to  know  what  that  means  ?'* 
"Yes,  if  you  please,"  said  Ellen. 

The  pen  was  laid  down  while  he  explained,  to  a  most  eager 
little  listener.  Even  the  great  business  of  the  moment  was 
forgotten.  From  hieroglyphics  they  went  to  the  pyramids  ; 
and  Ellen  had  got  to  the  top  of  one  and  was  enjoying  the 
prospect,  (in  imagination)  when  she  suddenly  came  down  to 
tell  John  of  her  stuffed  stocking  and  its  contents.  The  pen 
went  on  again,  and  came  to  the  end  of  the  writing  by  the 
time  Ellen  had  got  to  the  toe  of  the  stocking. 

"  Wasn't  it  very  strange  they  should  give  me  so  many 
things  ?"  said  she  ; — "  people  that  don't  know  me  ?" 

"  Why  no,"  said  John  smiling, — "  I  cannot  say  I  think  it 
was  very  strange.  Is  this  all  the  business  you  had  for  my 
hands  ?" 

"  This  is  all ;  and  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  John." 
Her  grateful  affectionate  eye  said  much  more,  and  he  felt 
well  paid. 

Gilbert  was  next  applied  to,  to  paint  the  rose  and  the  but- 
terfly, which,  finding  so  elegant  a  beginning  made  in  the 
work,  he  was  very  ready  to  do.  The  girls  were  then  free  to 
set  about  the  embroidery  of  the  leaves,  which  was  by  no 
means  the  business  of  an  hour. 
1* 


10 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


A  very  happy  Christmas  day  was  that.  With  their  needles 
and  thimbles,  and  rose-colored  silk,  they  kept  by  themselves 
in  a  corner,  or  in  the  library,  out  of  the  way  ;  and  sweetening 
their  talk  with  a  sugar-plum  now  and  then,  neither  tongues 
nor  needles  knew  any  flagging.  It  was  wonderful  what  they 
found  so  much  to  say,  but  there  was  no  lack.  Ellen  Chaun- 
cey  especially  was  inexhaustible.  Several  times  too  that  day 
the  Cologne  bottle  was  handled,  the  gloves  looked  at  and 
fondled,  the  ball  tried,  and  the  new  scissors  extolled  as  "just 
the  thing  for  their  Avork."  Ellen  attempted  to  let  her  com- 
panion into  the  mystery  of  oracles  and  hieroglyphics,  but  was 
fain  to  give  it  up ;  little  Ellen  showed  a  decided  preference 
for  American,  not  to  say  Ventnor,  subjects,  where  she  felt 
more  at  home. 

Then  came  Mr.  Humphreys ;  and  Ellen  was  glad,  both  for 
her  own  sake  and  because  she  loved  to  see  Alice  pleased. 
Then  came  the  great  merry  Christmas  dinner,  when  the  girls 
had,  not  talked  themselves  out,  but  tired  themselves  with 
working.  Young  and  old  dined  together  to-day,  and  the 
children  not  set  by  themselves  but  scattered  among  the 
grown-up  people  ;  and  as  Ellen  was  nicely  placed  between 
Ahce  and  httle  Ellen  Chauncey,  she  enjoyed  it  all  very  much. 
The  large  long  table  surrounded  with  happy  faces  ;  tones  of 
cheerfulness  and  looks  of  kindness,  and  lively  talk  ;  the  superb 
display  of  plate  and  glass  and  china  ;  the  stately  dinner ;  and 
last  but  not  least,  the  plum  pudding.  There  was  sparkling 
wine  too,  and  a  great  deal  of  drinking  of  healths ;  but  Ellen 
noticed  that  Alice  and  her  brother  smilingly  drank  all  theirs 
in  water ;  so  when  ohl  Mr.  Marshman  called  to  her  to  "hold 
out  her  glass,"  she  held  it  out  to  be  sure  and  let  him  fill  it, 
but  she  lifted  her  tumbler  of  water  to  her  lips  instead,  after 
making  him  a  very  low  bow.  Mr.  Marshman  laughed  at  her 
a  great  deal,  and  asked  her  if  she  was  "  a  proselyte  to  the 
new  notions ;"  and  Ellen  laughed  with  him,  without  having 
the  least  idea  Avhat  he  meant,  and  was  extremely  happy.  It 
was  very  pleasant  too  when  they  went  into  the  drawing- 
room  to  take  coffee.  The  young  ones  were  permitted  to  have 
coffee  to-night  as  a  great  favor.  Old  Mrs.  Marshman  had 
the  two  little  ones  on  either  side  of  her ;  and  was  so  kind, 
and  held  Ellen's  hand  in  her  own,  and  talked  to  her  about 
her  mother,  till  Ellen  loved  her. 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


11 


After  tea  there  was  a  great  call  for  games,  and  young  and 
old  joined  in  them.  They  played  the  Old  Curiosity  Shop ; 
and  Ellen  thought  Mr.  John's  curiosities  could  not  be  matched. 
They  played  the  Old  Family  Coach,  Mr.  Howard  Marshman 
being  the  manager,  and  Ellen  laughed  till  she  was  tired  ;  she 
was  the  coach  door,  and  he  kept  her  opening  and  shutting 
and  swinging  and  breaking,  it  seemed  all  the  while,  though 
most  of  the  rest  were  worked  just  as  hard.  When  they  were 
well  tired  they  sat  down  to  rest  and  hear  music,  and  Ellen 
enjoyed  that  exceedingly.  Alice  sang,  and  Mrs.  Gillespie, 
and  Miss  Sophia,  and  another  lady,  and  Mr.  Howard ;  some- 
times alone,  sometimes  three  or  four  or  all  together. 

At  last  came  ten  o'clock  and  the  young  ones  were  sent  oflf ; 
and  from  beginning  to  end  that  had  been  a  Christmas  day  of 
unbroken  and  unclouded  pleasure.  Ellen's  last  act  was  to  take 
another  look  at  her  Cologne  bottle,  gloves,  pincushion,  grapes, 
and  paper  of  sugar-plums,  which  were  laid  side  by  side  care- 
fully in  a  drawer. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


Bot  though  life's  valley  be  a  vale  of  tears. 
A  brighter  scene  beyond  that  vale  appears. 
Whose  glory,  with  a  light  that  never  fades, 
8hoots  between  scattered  rocks  and  opening  shades. 

COWPER. 

Mr.  Humphreys  was  persuaded  to  stay  over  Sunday  at 
Ventnor ;  and  it  was  also  settled  that  his  children  should  not 
leave  it  till  after  New  Year.  This  was  less  their  own  wish 
than  his  ;  he  said  Alice  wanted  the  change,  and  he  wish- 
ed she  looked  a  little  fatter.  Beside,  the  earnest  pleadings 
of  the  whole  family  were  not  to  be  denied.  Ellen  was  very 
glad  of  this,  though  there  was  one  drawback  to  the  pleasures 
of  Ventnor, — she  could  not  feel  quite  at  home  with  any  of  the 
young  people  but  only  Ellen  Chauncey  and  her  cousin 
George  Walsh.  This  seemed  very  strange  to  her  ;  she  almost 
thought  Margaret  Dunscombe  was  at  the  bottom  of  it  all,  but 
she  recollected  she  had  felt  something  of  this  before  Marga- 
ret came.  She  tried  to  think  nothing  about  it ;  and  in  truth 
it  was  not  able  to  prevent  her  from  being  very  happy.  The 
breach  however  was  destined  to  grow  wider. 

About  four  miles  from  Ventnor  was  a  large  town  called 
Randolph.  Thither  they  drove  to  church  Sunday  morning, 
the  whole  family ;  but  the  hour  of  dinner  and  the  distance 
prevented  any  one  from  going  in  the  afternoon.  The  mem- 
bers of  the  family  were  scattered  in  different  parts  of  the 
house,  most  in  their  own  rooms.  Ellen  with  some  diflBculty 
made  her  escape  from  her  young  companions,  whose  manner 
of  spending  the  time  did  not  satisfy  her  notions  of  what  was 
right  on  that  day,  and  went  to  look  in  the  library  for  lier 
friends.  They  were  there,  and  alone ;  Ahce  half  recliniDg 
on  the  sofa,  half  in  her  brother's  arms ;  he  was  reading  or 
talking  to  her ;  there  was  a  book  m  his  hand. 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


18 


"  Is  anything  the  matter  ?"  said  Ellen,  as  she  drew  near ; 
** aren't  you  well,  dear  Alice  ? — Headache?  oh,  1  am  sorry. 
0  !  I  know  " 

She  darted  away.  In  two  minutes  she  was  back  again  with 
a  pleased  face,  her  bunch  of  grapes  in  one  hand,  her  bottle  of 
Cologne  water  in  the  other. 

"  Won't  you  open  that,  please,  Mr.  John,"  said  she  ; — I 
can't  open  it ;  I  guess  it  will  do  her  good,  for  Ellen  says  it's 
delicious.  Mamma  used  to  have  Cologne  water  for  her  head- 
aches. And  here,  dear  Alice,  won't  you  eat  these  ? — do  ! — • 
try  one." 

"  Hasn't  that  bottle  been  open  yet  ?"  said  Alice,  as  she 
smilingly  took  a  grape. 

"  Why  no,  to  be  sure  it  hasn't.  I  wasn't  going  to  open  it 
till  I  wanted  it.    Eat  them  all,  dear  Alice, — please  do  !" 

"  But  I  don't  think  you  have  eaten  one  yourself,  Ellen,  by 
the  look  of  the  bunch.  And  here  are  a  great  many  too  many 
for  me." 

"  Yes  1  have,  I've  eaten  two  ;  I  don't  want  'em.  I  give 
them  all  to  you  and  Mr.  John.    I  had  a  great  deal  rather  !" 

Ellen  took  however  as  precious  payment  Alice's  look  and 
kiss ;  and  then  with  a  delicate  consciousness  that  perhaps  the 
brother  and  sister  might  like  to  be  alone,  she  left  the  library. 
She  did  not  know  where  to  go,  for  Miss  Sophia  was  stretched 
on  the  bed  in  her  room,  and  she  did  not  want  any  company. 
At  last  with  her  httle  Bible  she  placed  herself  on  the  old  sofa 
in  the  hall  above  stairs,  Avhich  was  perfectly  well  warmed,  and 
for  some  time  she  was  left  there  in  peace.  It  was  pleasant, 
after  all  the  hubbub  of  the  morning,  to  have  a  little  quiet  time 
that  seemed  like  Sunday ;  and  the  sweet  Bible  words  came, 
as  they  often  now  came  to  Ellen,  with  a  healing  breath.  But 
after  half  an  hour  or  so,  to  her  dismay  she  heard  a  door  open 
and  the  whole  gang  of  children  come  trooping  into  the  hall 
below,  where  tliey  soon  made  such  a  noise  that  reading  or 
thinking  was  out  of  the  question. 

"  What  a  bother  it  is  that  one  can't  play  games  on  a  Sun- 
day !"  said  Marianne  Gillespie. 

"  One  can  play  games  on  a  Sunday,"  answered  her  brother. 
"  Where's  the  odds  ?    It's  all  Sunday's  good  for,  /  think." 

"  William  ! — William  !"  sounded  the  shocked  voice  of  little 
Ellen  Chauncey, — you  are  a  real  wicked  boy  !" 


14 


THE   WIDE,  -WIDE  WORLD. 


**  Well  now  !"  said  William.. — "  how  am  I  wicked  ?  Kow 
say, — I  should  like  to  know.  How  is  it  any  more  wicked  for 
us  to  play  games  than  it  is  for  aunt  Sophia  to  lie  abed  and 
sleep,  or  for  uncle  Howard  to  read  novels,  or  for  grandpa  to 
talk  politics,  or  for  mother  to  talk  about  the  fashions  ? — there 
were  she  and  Miss  What's-her-name  for  ever  so  longf  this 
morning  doing  everything  but  make  a  dress.  Now  which  is 
the  worst  ?" 

"  0,  William  ! — WilHam  ! — for  shame  !  for  shame  !"  said 
Ellen  again. 

"Do  hush,  Ellen  Chauncey !  will  you  ?"  said  Marianne 
sharply  ; — "  and  you  had  better  hush  too,  William,  if  you  know 
what  is  good  for  yourself.  I  don't  care  whether  it's  right  or 
wrong,  1  do  get  dolefully  tired  with  doing  nothing." 

"  Oh  so  do  I !"  said  Margaret  yawning.  "  I  wish  one  could 
sleep  all  Sunday." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  George,  "  I  know  a  game 
we  can  play,  and  no  harm  either,  for  it's  all  out  of  the 
Bible." 

"  0  do  you  ?  let's  hear  it,  George,"  cried  the  girls. 

"  I  don't  believe  it  is  good  for  anything  if  it  is  out  of  the 
Bible,"  said  Margaret.    "  Now  stare,  Ellen  Chauncey,  do  !" 

"I  aint  staring,"  said  Ellen  indignantly, — "but  I  don't  be- 
lieve it  is  right  to  play  it,  if  it  is  out  of  the  Bible." 

"  Well  it  is  though,"  said  George.  "  Now  listen ; — I'll 
think  of  somebody  in  the  Bible, — some  man  or  woman,  you 
know  ;  and  you  all  may  ask  me  twenty  questions  about  him 
to  see  if  you  can  find  out  who  it  is." 

"  What  kind  of  questions  ?" 

"  Any  kind  of  questions — whatever  you  like." 

"  That  will  improve  your  knowledge  of  scripture  history," 
said  Gilbert. 

"  To  be  sure ;  and  exercise  oui*  memory,''  said  Isabel 
Hawthorn. 

"  Yes,  and  then  w^e  are  thinking  of  good  people  and  what 
they  did,  all  the  time,"  said  little  Ellen. 

"  Or  bad  people  and  w^hat  they  did,"  said  William. 

"  But  I  don't  know  enough  about  people  and  things  in  the 
Bible,"  said  Margaret ;  "  I  couldn't  guess." 

"  0  never  mind — it  will  be  all  the  more  fun,"  said  George. 
"  Come  !  let's  begin.    Who'll  take  somebody  ?" 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


15 


"0  1  think  this  will  be  fine  !"  said  little Chauncey but 
Ellen — where's  Ellen? — we  want  her." 

"  No  we  don't  want  her  ! — we've  enough  without  her — 
she  won't  play  !"  shouted  William,  as  the  little  girl  ran  up 
stairs.  She  persevered  however.  Ellen  had  left  her  sofa  be- 
fore this,  and  was  found  seated  on  the  foot  of  her  bed.  As 
far  and  as  long  as  she  could  she  withstood  her  little  friend's 
entreaties,  and  very  unwilhngly  at  last  yielded  and  went  with 
her  down  stairs. 

"  Now  we  are  ready,"  said  little  Ellen  Chauncey  ;  "  I  have 
told  Ellen  what  the  game  is  ;  who's  going  to  begin  ?" 

"  We  have  begun,"  said  William.  "  Gilbert  has  thought 
of  somebody.    Man  or  woman  ?" 

-Man." 

"  Young  or  old  ?" 

*'  Why — he  was  young  first  and  old  afterwards." 

"  Pshaw,  William !  what  a  ridiculous  question,"  said  his 
sister.  "  Besides  you  mustn't  ask  m,ore  than  one  at  a  time. 
Rich  or  poor,  Gilbert  ?" 

"  Humph  ! — why  I  suppose  he  was  moderately  well  off.  I 
dare  say  I  should  think  myself  a  lucky  fellow  if  I  had  as 
much." 

"  Are  you  answering  truly,  Gilbert  ?" 
"  Upon  my  honor  !" 

"  Was  he  in  a  high  or  low  station  of  life,"  asked  Miss  Haw- 
thorn ?" 

"  Neither  at  the  top  nor  the  bottom  of  the  ladder — a  very 
respectable  person  indeed.'' 

"  But  we  are  not  getting  on,"  said  Margaret ;  "  according 
to  you  he  wasn't  anything  in  particular  ;  what  kind  of  a 
person  was  he,  Gilbert  ?" 

"  A  very  good  man." 

"  Handsome  or  ugly  ?" 

"  History  don't  say." 

"  Well,  what  does  it  say  ?"  said  George  • — "  what  did  ho 
do  ?" 

"  He  took  a  journey  once  upon  a  time." 
"What  for'?" 

"Do  you  mean  why  he  went,  or  what  was  the  object  of 
his  going  ?" 

"  Why  the  one's  the  same  as  the  other,  aint  it  ?" 


16 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


"  I  beg  your  pardon." 

"  Well,  what  was  the  object  of  his  going  ?" 

"  He  went  after  a  wife." 

'*  Samson  !  Samson  !*'  shouted  William  and  Isabel  and  Ellen 
Chauncey. 

"  No — it  wasn't  Samson  either." 

"  I  can't  think  of  anybody  else  that  went  after  a  wife,"  said 
George.       That  king — what's  his  name  ? — that  married 

Esther  ?" 

The  children  screamed.  "  He  didn't  go  after  a  wife,  George, 
— his  wives  were  brought  to  him.    Was  it  Jacob  ?" 

"  No — he  didn't  go  after  a  wife  either,"  said  Gilbert ;  "  he 
married  two  of  them,  but  he  didn't  go  to  his  uncle's  to  find 
them.  You  had  better  go  on  with  your  questions.  You  have 
had  eight  already.  If  you  don't  look  out  you  won't  catch 
me.    Come !" 

Did  he  get  the  wife  that  he  went  after  ?"  asked  Ellen 
Chauncey. 

"  He  was  never  married  that  I  know  of,"  said  Gilbert. 
"  What  was  the  reason  he  failed  ?"  said  Isabel. 
"  He  did  not  fail." 

*'  Did  he  bring  home  his  wife  then  ?  you  said  he  wasn't 
married." 

"  He  never  was,  that  I  know  of ;  but  he  brought  home  a 
wife  notwithstanding." 

"  But  how  funny  you  are,  Gilbert,"  said  little  Ellen, — "  he 
had  a  wife  and  he  hadn't  a  wife  ; — what  became  of  her  ?" 

*'  She  lived  and  flourished.  Twelve  questions  ; — take  care." 

"  Nobody  asked  what  country  he  was  of,"  said  Margaret, 
— "  what  was  he,  Gilbert  ?" 
He  was  a  Damascene. 

**A  what?'' 

"  Of  Damascus — of  Damascus.  You  know  where  Damas- 
cus is,  don't  you "?" 

Fiddle  !"  said  Marianne, — "  I  thought  he  was  a  Jew. 
Did  he  hve  before  or  after  the  flood  ?" 

"  After.    I  should  think  you  might  have  known  that." 

"  W^ell,  I  can't  make  out  anything  about  him,"  said 
Marianne.    "  We  shall  have  to  give  it  up." 

"  No,  no, — not  yet,"  said  William.  "  Where  did  he  go 
after  his  wife  ?" 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


17 


"Too  close  a  question." 

"  Then  that  don't  count.  Had  he  ever  seen  her  before  ?" 
**  Never." 

'*  Was  she  willing  to  go  with  him 
Very  willing.    Ladies  always  are  when  they  go  to  be 
married." 

"  And  what  became  of  her  ?" 

"  She  was  married  and  lived  happily, — as  I  told  you." 
"  But  you  said  he  wasn't  married  ?" 
"  Well,  what  then?  I  didn't  say  she  married  ^im." 
"  Whom  did  she  marry  ?" 

"Ah  that  is  asking  the  whole ;  I  can't  tell  you." 

"  Had  they  far  to  go  ?"  asked  Isabel. 

"  Several  days'  journey, — 1  don't  know  how  far." 

"  How  did  they  travel  ?'' 

"  On  camels." 

"  Was  it  the  Queen  of  Sheba  !"  said  little  Ellen. 

There  was  a  roar  of  laughter  at  this  happy  thought,  and 
poor  httle  Ellen  declared  she  forgot  all  but  about  the  jour- 
ney ;  she  remembered  the  Queen  of  Sheba  had  taken  a  jour- 
ney, and  the  camels  in  the  picture  of  the  Queen  of  Sheba, 
and  that  made  her  think  of  her. 

The  children  gave  up.  Questioning  seemed  hopeless  ;  and 
Gilbert  at  last  told  them  his  thought.  It  was  Eleazar,  Abra- 
ham's steward,  whom  he  sent  to  fetch  a  wife  for  his  son 
Isaac. 

"  Why  haven't  ijou  guessed,  little  mumchance  ?"  said 
Gilbert  to  Ellen  Montgomery. 

"  I  have  guessed,"  said  Ellen  ; — "  I  knew  who  it  was  some 
time  ago." 

"  Then  why  didn't  you  say  so  ?  and  you  haven't  asked  a 
single  question,"  said  George. 

"  No,  you  haven't  asked  a  single  question,"  said  Ellen 
Chauncey. 

"  She  is  a  great  deal  too  good  for  that,"  said  William  ; 
"  she  thinks  it  is  wicked,  and  that  we  are  not  at  all  nice  pro- 
per-behaved boys  and  girls  to  be  playing  on  Sunday  ;  she  is 
very  sorry  she  could  not  help  being  amused." 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  wricked,  Ellen  ?"  asked  her  little  friend. 

"  Do  you  think  it  isn't  right  ?"  said  George  Walsh. 


18 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


Ellen  hesitated  ;  she  saw  they  were  all  waiting  to  hear 
what  she  would  say.  She  colored,  and  looked  down  at 
her  little  Bible  which  was  still  in  her  hand.  It  encouraged 
her. 

"  I  don't  want  to  say  anything  rude,"  she  began  ; — "  I  don't 
think  it  is  quite  right  to  play  such  plays,  or  any  plays." 

She  was  attacked  with  impatient  cries  of  "  Why  not  ?" 
"Why  not?" 

*'  Because,"  said  Ellen,  trembling  with  the  effort  she  made, — 
"  I  think  Sunday  was  meant  to  be  spent  in  growing  better 
and  learning  good  things  ;  and  I  don't  think  such  plays  would 
help  one  at  all  to  do  that ;  and  I  have  a  kind  of  feeling  that 
I  ought  not  to  do  it." 

"  Well  I  hope  you'll  act  according  to  your  feelings  then," 
said  William ;  "  1  am  sure  nobody  has  any  objection.  You 
had  better  go  somewhere  else  though,  for  we  are  going  on ; 
we  have  been  learning  to  be  good  long  enough  for  one  day. 
Come  !  I  have  thought  of  somebod3^" 

Ellen  could  not  help  feeling  hurt  and  sorry  at  the  half 
sneer  she  saw  in  the  look  and  manner  of  the  others  as  well 
as  in  William's  words.  She  wished  for  no  better  than  to  go 
away,  but  as  she  did  so  her  bosom  swelled  and  the  tears 
started  and  her  breath  came  quicker.  She  found  AHce  lying 
down  and  asleep.  Miss  Sophia  beside  her  ;  so  she  stole  out 
again  and  went  down  to  the  library.  Finding  nobody,  she 
took  possession  of  the  sofa  and  tried  to  read  again  ;  reading 
somehow  did  not  go  well,  and  she  fell  to  musing  on  what  had 
just  passed.  She  thought  of  the  unkindness  of  the  children  ; 
how  sure  she  was  it  was  wrong  to  spend  any  part  of  Sunday 
in  such  games  ;  what  Alice  would  think  of  it,  and  John,  and 
her  mother  ;  and  how  the  Sundays  long  ago  used  to  be  spent, 
when  that  dear  mother  was  with  her ;  and  then  she  wondered 
how  she  was  passing  this  very  one, — while  Ellen  was  sitting 
here  in  the  library  alone,  what  she  was  doing  in  that  far-away 
land  ;  and  she  thought  if  there  only  wei-e  such  things  as 
oracles  that  could  tell  truly,  how  much  she  should  like  to 
ask  about  her. 

Ellen  !"  said  the  voice  of  John  from  the  window. 

She  started  up ;  she  had  thought  she  was  alone ;  but  there 
he  was  lying  in  the  window  seat. 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD.  19 


"  What  are  you  doing  ?" 
"  Nothing,"  said  Ellen. 

*'  Come  here.  What  are  you  thinking  about  ?  I  didn't 
know  you  were  there  till  I  heard  two  or  three  very  long 
sighs.    What  is  the  matter  with  my  little  sister  ?" 

He  took  her  hand  and  drew  her  fondly  up  to  him.  What 
were  you  thinking  about  ?" 

"  I  was  thinking  about  diflferent  things, — nothing  is  the 
matter,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Then  what  are  those  tears  in  your  eyes  for 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  she  laughing, — "  there  weren't  any 
till  I  came  here.    I  was  thinking  just  now  about  mamma." 

He  said  no  more,  still  however  keeping  her  beside  him. 

"  I  should  think,"  said  Ellen  presently,  after  a  few  minutes* 
musing  look  out  of  the  window, — "  it  would  be  very  pleasant 
if  there  were  such  things  as  oracles — don't  you,  Mr.  John  V 

"  No." 

"  But  wouldn't  you  hke  to  know  something  about  what's 
going  to  happen  ?" 

"I  do  know  a  great  deal  about  it." 
"  About  what  is  going  to  happen !" 
He  smiled. 

"  Yes — a  great  deal,  ElHe, — enough  to  give  me  work  for 
all  the  rest  of  my  life." 

"  0  you  mean  from  the  Bible  ! — I  was  thinking  of  other 
things." 

"  It  is  best  not  to  know  the  other  things  Ellie ; — I  am  very 
glad  to  know  those  the  Bible  teaches  us." 

"  But  it  doesn't  tell  us  much,  does  it  ?  What  does  it  tell 
us?" 

y^"  Go  to  the  window  and  tell  me  what  you  see.'* 

"  I  don't  see  anything  in  particular,"  said  Ellen,  after 

•taking  a  grave  look-out. 
"  Well,  what  in  general  ?" 

"  Why  there  is  the  lawn  covered  with  snow,  and  the  trees 
and  bushes  ;  and  the  sun  is  shining  on  everything  just  as  it 
did  the  day  we  came ;  and  there's  the  long  shadow  of  that 
hemlock  across  the  snow,  and  the  blue  sky." 

**  Now  look  out  again  Ellie,  and  listen.  I  know  that  a  day 
is  to  come  when  those  heavens  shall  be  wrapped  together  as  a 


20 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


scroll — they  shall  vanish  away  like  smoke,  and  the  earth 
shall  wax  old  like  a  garment ; — and  it  and  all  the  works  that 
are  therein  shall  be  burned  up." 

As  he  spoke  Ellen's  fancy  tried  to  follow, — to  picture  the 
ruin  and  desolation  of  all  that  stood  so  fair  and  seemed  to 
stand  so  firm  before  her  ; — but  the  sun  shone  on,  the  branches 
waved  gently  in  the  wind,  the  shadows  lay  still  on  the  snow, 
and  the  blue  heaven  was  fair  and  cloudless.  Fancy  was 
baffled.    She  turned  from  the  window. 

"  Do  you  believe  it?"  said  John. 

"  Yes,"  said  Ellen, — "  I  know  it ;  but  1  think  it  is  very 
disagreeable  to  think  about  it." 

*'  It  would  be,  Ellie,"  said  he,  bringing  her  again  to  his 
side, — "  very  disagreeable — very  miserable  indeed,  if  we  knew 
no  more  than  that.    But  we  know  more — read  here.'' 

Ellen  took  his  little  Bible  and  read  at  the  open  place. 

**  '  Behold,  I  create  new  heavens  and  a  new  earth,  and 
the  former  shall  not  be  remembered,  neither  come  into 
mind.'  " 

"  Why  Avon't  they  be  remembered  ?"  said  Ellen  ; — shall 
we  forget  all  about  them  ?" 

No,  I  do  not  think  that  is  meant.  The  new  heavens  and 
the  new  earth  will  be  so  much  more  lovely  and  pleasant  that 
we  shall  not  want  to  think  of  these." 

Ellen's  eye  sought  the  window  again. 

"  You  are  thinking  that  is  hardly  possible  ?"  said  John 
with  a  smile. 

"  I  suppose  it  is  possible,"  said  Ellen, — "  but — " 

"  But  lovely  as  this  world  is,  Ellie,  man  has  filled  it  with 
sin,  and  sin  has  everywhere  brought  its  punishment,  and 
under  the  weight  of  both  the  earth  groans.  There  will  be 
no  sin  there ;  sorrow  and  sighing  shall  flee  away  ;  love  to 
each  other  and  love  to  their  blessed  King  will  fill  all  hearts, 
and  his  presence  will  be  with  them.  Don't  you  see  that 
even  if  that  w^orld  shall  be  in  itself  no  better  than  this,  it  will 
yet  be  far,  far  more  lovely  than  this  can  ever  be  with  the 
shadow  of  sin  upon  it  ?" 

"  0  yes  !"  said  Ellen.  "  I  know  whenever  I  feel  wrong 
in  any  way  nothing  seems  pretty  or  pleasant  to  me,  or  not 
half  so  much." 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


21 


"  Very  well,"  said  John, — "  I  see  you  understand  me.  I 
like  to  think  of  that  land,  Ellen, — very  much." 

"  Mr.  John,"  said  Ellen, — "  don't  you  think  people  will 
know  each  other  again  ?" 

"  Those  that  love  each  other  here  ? — I  have  no  doubt  of  it." 

Before  either  John  or  Ellen  had  broken  the  long  musing  fit 
that  followed  these  words,  they  were  joined  by  Ahce.  Her 
head  was  better ;  and  taking  her  place  in  the  window-seat, 
the  talk  began  again,  betAveen  the  brother  and  sister  now ; 
Ellen  too  happy  to  sit  with  them  and  listen.  They  talked 
of  that  land  again,  of  the  happy  company  preparing  for  it ; 
of  their  dead  mother,  but  not  much  of  her ;  of  the  glory  of 
their  King,  and  the  joy  of  his  service,  even  here ; — till  thoughts 
grew  too  strong  for  words,  and  silence  again  stole  upon  the 
group.  The  short  winter  day  came  to  an  end  ;  the  sunhght 
faded  away  into  moonlight.  Ko  shadows  lay  now  on  the 
lawn  ;  and  from  where  she  sat  Ellen  could  see  the  great 
hemlock  all  silvered  with  the  moonlight  which  began  to  steal 
in  at  the  window.  It  was  very,  very  beautiful ; — yet  she 
could  think  now  without  sorrow  that  all  this  should  come  to 
an  end  ;  because  of  that  new  heaven  and  new  earth  wherein 
righteousness  should  dwell. 

"  We  have  eaten  up  all  your  grapes,  Ellie,"  said  Alice, — 
or  rather  /  have,  for  John  didn't  help  me  much.  I  think  T 
never  ate  so  sweet  grapes  in  my  life  ;  John  said  the  reason 
was  because  eveiy  one  tasted  of  you." 

"  I  am  very  glad,"  said  Ellen  laughing. 

*'  There  is  no  evil  without  some  good,"  Ahce  went  on  ; — 
"  except  for  my  headache  John  would  not  have  held  my  head 
by  the  hour  as  he  did ;  and  you  couldn't  have  given  me  the 
pleasure  you  did,  ElUe.  Oh  Jack  ! — there  has  been  many  a 
day  lately  when  I  would  gladly  have  had  a  headache  for  the 
power  of  laying  my  head  on  your  shoulder !" 

"  And  if  mamma  had  not  gone  away  I  should  never  have 
known  you,"  said  Ellen.  *'  1  wish  she  never  had  gone,  but 
I  am  very,  very  glad  for  this  !" 

She  had  kneeled  upon  the  window-seat  and  clasped  Ahce 
round  the  neck,  just  as  they  were  called  to  tea.  The  conver- 
sation had  banished  every  disagreeable  feeling  from  Ellen's 
mind.    She  met  her  companions  in  the  drawing-room  almost 


22 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


forgetting  that  she  had  any  cause  of  complaint  against  them. 
And  this  appeared  when  in  the  course  of  the  evening  it  came 
in  her  way  to  perform  some  httle  office  of  pohteness  for 
Marianne.  It  was  done  with  the  gracefulness  that  could 
only  come  from  a  spirit  entirely  free  from  ungraceful  feelings. 
The  children  felt  it,  and  for  the  time  were  shamed  into  better 
behavior.  The  evening  passed  pleasantly,  and  Ellen  went 
to  bed  very  happy. 


CHAPTER  XXXL 


*'  The  ancient  heroes  were  illustrious, 
For  being  benign,  and  not  biustrous." 

HUDIBRAS. 

The  next  day  it  happened  that  the  young  people  were 
amusing  themselves  with  talking  in  a  room  where  John 
Humphreys,  walking  up  and  down,  was  amusing  himself 
with  thinkino^.  In  the  course  of  his  walk  he  beoan  to  find 
their  amusement  rather  disturbing  to  his.  The  children  were 
all  grouped  closely  round  Margaret  Dunscombe,  who  was 
entertaining  them  with  a  long  and  very  detailed  account  of 
a  wedding  and  great  party  at  Randolph  which  she  had  had 
the  happiness  of  attending.  Eagerly  fighting  her  battles 
over  again,  and  pleased  with  the  rapt  attention  of  her  hearers, 
the  speaker  forgot  herself  and  raised  her  voice  much  more 
than  she  meant  to  do.  As  every  turn  of  his  walk  brought 
John  near,  there  came  to  his  ears  sufficient  bits  and  scraps  of 
Margaret's  story  to  give  him  a  very  fair  sample  of  the  whole  ; 
and  he  was  sorry  to  see  Ellen  among  the  rest,  and  as  the 
rest,  hanging  upon  her  lips  and  drinking  in  what  seemed  to 
him  to  be  very  poor  nonsense.  "  Her  gown  was  all  blue 
satin,  trimmed  here, — and  so, — you  know,  with  the  most 
exqmsite  lace,  as  deep  as  that, — and  on  the  shoulders  and 
here — you  know,  it  was  looped  up  with  the  most  lovely 
bunches  of" — here  John  lost  the  sense.  When  he  came 
near  again  she  had  got  upon  a  different  topic — "  Miss  Sim- 
mons," says  I,  "  what  did  you  do  that  for?"  "  Why,"  says 
she,      how  could  I  help  it  ?    1  saw  Mr.  Pyne  coming,  and 

I  thought  I'd  get  behind  you,  and  so  ."    The  next  time 

the  speaker  was  saying  with  great  animation,  "  And  lo,  and 
behold,  when  I  was  in  the  midst  of  all  my  pleasure,  up  comes 

a  little  gentleman  of  about  his  dimensions  ."    He  had 

not  taken  many  turns  when  he  saw  that  Margaret's  nonsense" 
was  branching  out  right  and  left  into  worse  than  nonsense. 


24 


THE  WIDE,  ■WIDE  WORLD. 


"  Ellen  !"  said  he  suddenly, — "  I  want  you  in  the  library." 

"  My  conscience  !"  said  Margaret  ^as  he  left  the  room, — • 
**  King  John  the  Second,  and  no  less." 

"  Don't  go  on  till  I  come  back,"  said  Ellen ;  *'  I  won't  be 
three  minutes  ;  just  wait  for  me." 

She  found  John  seated  at  one  of  the  tables  in  the  library, 
sharpening  a  pencil. 

"  Ellen,"  said  he  in  his  usual  manner, — I  want  you  to  do 
something  for  me." 

She  waited  eagerly  to  hear  what,  but  instead  of  telling  her 
he  took  a  piece  of  drawing  paper  and  began  to  sketch  some- 
thing. Ellen  stood  by,  wondering  and  impatient  to  the  last 
degree  ;  not  caring  however  to  show  her  impatience,  though 
her  very  feet  were  twitching  to  run  back  to  her  companions. 

"  Ellen,"  said  John  as  he  finished  the  old  stump  of  a  tree 
with  one  branch  left  on  it,  and  a  little  bit  of  ground  at  the 
bottom,  "  did  you  ever  try  your  hand  at  drawing  ?" 
No,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Then  sit  down  here,"  said  he  rising  from  his  chair, 
"  and  let  me  see  what  you  can  make  of  that." 

"But  I  don't  know  how,"  said  Ellen. 
I  will  teach  you.    There  is  a  piece  of  paper,  and  this 
pencil  is  sharp  enough.    Is  that  chair  too  low  for  you  ?" 

He  placed  another,  and  with  extreme  unwillingness  and 
some  displeasure  Ellen  sat  down.  It  w^as  on  her  tongue  to 
ask  if  another  time  would  not  do,  but  somehow  she  could  not 
get  the  words  out.  John  showed  her  how  to  hold  her  pencil, 
how  to  place  her  paper,  where  to  begin  and  how  to  go  on  ; 
and  then  went  to  the  other  end  of  the  room  and  took  up  his 
walk  again.  Ellen  at  first  felt  more  inclined  to  drive  her 
pencil  through  the  paper  then  to  make  quiet  marks  upon  it. 
However  necessity  was  upon  her.  She  began  her  work; 
and  once  fairly  begun  it  grew  delightfully  interesting.  Hei 
vexation  went  off  entirely  ;  she  forgot  Margaret  and  hoi 
story  ;  the  wrinkles  on  the  old  trunk  smoothed  those  on  hei 
brow,  and  those  troublesome  leaves  at  the  branch  end  brushed 
away  all  thoughts  of  everything  else.  Her  cheeks  were  burn- 
ing with  intense  interest,  when  the  library  door  burst  open 
and  the  whole  tioop  of  children  rushed  in  ;  they  wanted 
Ellen  for  a  round  game  in  which  all  their  number  were 
needed  ;  she  must  come  directly. 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


25 


"  I  can't  come  just  yet,"  said  she  ;  "  I  must  finish  this  first." 

*'  Afterwards  will  just  do  as  well,"  said  George  ; — "  come 
Ellen,  do  ! — you  can  finish  it  afterwards." 

No  I  can't,"  said  Ellen, — "  I  can't  leave  it  till  it's  done. 
Why  I  thought  Mr.  John  was  here  !  I  didn't  see  him  go  out. 
I'll  come  in  a  little  while." 

"  Did  he  set  you  about  that  pracious  piece  of  business  ?" 
said  William. 

"  Yes." 

"  I  declare,"  said  Margaret, — "  he's  fitter  to  be  the  Grand 
Turk  than  any  one  else  1  know  of." 

"  I  don't  know  who  the  Grand  Turk  is,"  said  Ellen. 

"  I'll  tell  you,"  said  William,  putting  his  mouth  close  to 
her  ear,  and  speaking  in  a  disagreeable  loud  whisper, — "  it's 
the  biggest  gobbler  in  the  yard." 

Aint  you  ashamed  William  !"  cried  little  Ellen  Chauncey. 

"  That's  it  exactly,"  said  Margaret, — always  strutting 
about." 

"  He  isn't  a  bit,"  said  Ellen  veiy  angry  ;  "  I've  seen  peo- 
ple a  great  deal  more  like  gobblers  than  he  is." 

"  Well,"  said  William,  reddening  in  his  turn,  "  I  had 
rather  at  any  rate  be  a  good  turkey  gobbler  than  one  of  those 
outlandish  birds  that  have  an  appetite  for  stones  and  glass 
and  bits  of  morocco,  and  such  things.  Come,  let's  us  leave 
her  to  do  the  Grand  Turk's  bidding.  Come  Ellen  Chauncey — 
you  mustn't  stay  to  interrupt  her — we  want  you  !" 

They  left  her  alone.  Ellen  had  colored,  but  WiUiam's 
words  did  not  hit  very  sore ;  since  John's  talk  w^ith  her  about 
the  matter  referred  to  she  had  thought  of  it  humbly  and 
wisely  ;  it  is  only  pride  that  makes  such  fault-finding  very  hard 
to  bear.  She  was  very  sorry  however  that  they  had  fallen  out 
again,  and  that  her  own  passion,  as  she  feared,  had  been  the 
cause.  A  few  tears  had  to  be  wiped  away  before  she  could  see 
exactly  how  the  old  tree  stood, — then  taking  up  her  pencil  she 
soon  forgot  everything  in  her  work.  It  v/as  finished,  and 
with  bead  now  on  one  side,  now  on  the  other,  she  was  look- 
ing at  her  picture  with  very  great  satisfaction,  when  her  Qy% 
caught  the  figure  of  John  standing  before  her. 

"  Is  it  done  ?"  said  he. 

"  It  is  done,"  said  Ellen  smiling,  as  she  rose  up  to  let  him 
come.    He  sat  down  to  look  at  it. 
VOL.  II.  2 


26 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


**  It  is  very  well,"  he  said, — "  better  than  T  expected, — it 
is  very  well  indeed.    Is  this  your  first  trial,  Ellen  ?" 
Yes— the  first." 

"  You  found  it  pleasant  work  ?" 

"  0  very  ! — very  pleasant.    I  like  it  dearly." 

"  Then  I  will  teach  you.  This  shows  you  have  a  taste  for 
it,  and  that  is  precisely  what  I  wanted  to  find  out.  I  will 
give  you  an  easier  copy  next  time.  I  rather  expected  when 
you  sat  down,"  said  he,  smiling  a  little,  "  that  the  old  tree 
would  grow  a  good  deal  more  crooked  under  your  hands  than 
I  meant  it  to  be." 

Ellen  blushed  exceedingly.  "  I  do  believe,  Mr.  John," 
said  she,  stammering,  "  that  you  know  everything  I  am 
thinking  about." 

*'  I  might  do  that,  Ellen,  without  being  as  wise  as  an  ora- 
cle. But  I  do  not  expect  to  make  any  very  painful  dis- 
coveries in  that  line." 

Ellen  thought,  if  he  did  not,  it  would  not  be  her  fault.  She 
truly  repented  her  momentary  anger  and  hasty  speech  to 
William.  Not  that  he  did  not  deserve  it,  or  that  it  was  not 
true  ;  but  it  was  unwise,  and  had  done  mischief,  and  "  it  was 
not  a  bit  like  peacemaking,  nor  meek  at  all,"  Ellen  said  to 
herself.  She  had  been  reading  that  morning  the  fifth  chap- 
ter of  Matthew,  and  it  ran  in  her  head,  "  Blessed  are  the 
meek," — "  Blessed  are  the  peacemakers  :  for  they  shall  be 
called  the  children  of  God."  She  strove  to  get  back  a  plea- 
sant feeling  toward  her  young  companions,  and  prayed  that 
she  might  not  be  angry  at  anything  they  should  say.  She 
was  tried  again  at  tea-time. 

Miss  Sophia  had  quitted  the  table,  bidding  William  hand  the 
doughnuts  to  those  who  could  not  reach  them.  Marianne  took 
a  great  while  to  make  her  choice.  Her  brother  grew  impatient. 

"  Well  I  hope  you  have  suited  yourself,"  said  he.  "  Come, 
Miss  Montgomery,  don't  you  be  as  long ;  my  arm  is  tired. 
Shut  your  eyes,  and  then  you'll  be  sure  to  get  the  biggest 
one  in  the  basket." 

"  No  Ellen,"  said  John,  who  none  of  the  children  thought 
was  near, — it  would  be  ungenerous — I  wouldn't  deprive 
Master  William  of  his  best  arguments." 

What  do  you  mean  by  my  arguments  ?"  said  Wilhaiu 
sharply. 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


27 


**  General!}'-,  those  which  are  the  most  difficult  to  take  in," 
answered  his  tormentor  with  perfect  gravity. 

Ellen  tried  to  keep  from  smiling,  but  could  not ;  and  otherg 
of  the  party  did  not  try.  William  and  his  sister  were  en- 
raged, the  more  because  John  had  said  nothing  they  could 
take  hold  of,  or  even  repeat.  Gilbert  made  common  cause  with 
them. 

"  I  wish  I  was  grown  up  for  once,"  said  William. 
Will  you  fight  rn,e  sir  ?"  asked  Gilbert,  who  was  a  mat- 
ter of  three  years  older,  and  well  grown  enough. 
His  question  received  no  answer,  and  was  repeated. 
"  No,  sir." 
"  Why  not  sir  ?" 

**  I  am  afraid  you'd  lay  me  up  with  a  sprained  ankle,"  said 
John,  "  and  1  should  not  get  back  to  Doncaster  as  quickly  as 
I  must." 

It  is  very  mean  of  him,"  said  Gilbert,  as  John  walked 
away, — "  I  could  Avhip  him  I  know." 

"  Who's  that  ?"  said  Mr.  Howard  Marshman. 
"John  Humphreys," 

"  John  Humphreys  !  You  had  better  not  meddle  with  him 
my  dear  fellow.    It  would  be  no  particular  proof  of  wisdom." 

"Why  he  is  no  such  great  affair,"  said  Gilbert;  "he's 
tall  enough  to  be  sure,  but  I  don't  believe  he  is  heavier  than 
I  am." 

"  You  don't  know,  in  the  first  place,  how  to  judge  of  the 
size  of  a  perfectly  well-made  man  ;  And  in  the  second  place 
/  was  not  a  match  for  him  a  year  ago  ;  so  you  may  judge. — I 
do  not  know  precisely,"  he  went  on  to  the  lady  he  was  walk- 
ing with,  "  what  it  takes  to  rouse  John  Humphreys,  but  when 
he  is  roused  he  seems  to  me  to  have  strength  enough  for 
twice  his  bone  and  muscle.  I  have  seen  him  do.  curious 
things  once  or  twice  !" 

"  That  quiet  Mr.  Humphreys  ?" 

"Humph!"  said  Mr.  Howard, — "gunpowder  is  pretty 
quiet  stuff  so  long  as  it  keeps  cool." 

The  next  day  another  matter  happened  to  disturb  Ellen. 
Margaret  had  received  an  elegant  pair  of  ear-rings  as  a  Christ- 
mas present,  and  was  showing  them  for  the  admiration  of  her 
young  friends.    Ellen's  did  not  satisfy  her. 

"  Aint  they  splendid  ?"  said  she.    "Tell  the  truth  no^w 


28 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  W^ORLD. 


Ellen  Montgomery,  wouldn't  you  give  a  great  deal  if  some- 
body would  send  you  such  a  pair  ?" 

"  They  are  very  pretty,"  said  Ellen,  but  I  don't  think  I 
care  much  for  such  things, — I  would  rather  have  the  money." 

"  0  you  avaricious  ! — Mr.  Marshman  !"  cried  Margaret,  as 
the  old  gentleman  was  just  then  passing  through  the  room, 
— "  here's  Ellen  Montgomery  says  she'd  rather  have  money 
than  anything  else  for  her  present." 

He  did  not  seem  to  hear  her,  and  went  out  without  mak- 
ing any  reply. 

"  O  Margaret !"  said  Ellen,  shocked  and  distressed, — "  how 
could  you  !  how  could  you !   What  will  Mr.  Marshman  think  ?" 

Margaret  answered  she  didn't  care  what  he  thought. 
Ellen  could  only  hope  he  had  not  heard. 

But  a  day  or  two  after,  when  neither  Ellen  nor  her  friends 
were  present,  Mr.  Marshman  asked  who  it  was  that  had  told 
him  Ellen  Montgomery  would  like  money  better  than  any- 
thing else  for  her  New  Year's  present." 

"  It  was  I,  sir,"  said  Margaret. 

"  It  sounds  very  unlike  her  to  say  so,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Chauncey. 

"Did  she  say  so  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Marshman. 

**  I  understood  her  so,"  said  Margaret, — "  I  understood  her 
to  say  she  wouldn't  care  for  anything  else." 

"  I  am  disappointed  in  her,"  said  the  old  gentleman  ;  "  I 
wouldn't  have  believed  it." 

"  I  do  not  beheve  it,"  said  Mrs.  Chauncey  quietly ;  "  there 
has  been  some  mistake." 

It  was  hard  for  Ellen  now  to  keep  to  what  she  thought 
right.  Disagreeable  feelings  would  rise  when  she  remem- 
bered the  impoliteness,  the  half  sneer,  the  whole  taunt,  and 
the  real  unkindness  of  several  of  the  young  party.  She  found 
herself  ready  to  be  irritated,  inclined  to  dislike  the  sight  of 
those,  even  wishing  to  visit  some  sort  of  punishment  upon 
them.  But  Christian  principle  had  taken  strong  hold  in 
little  Ellen's  heart;  she  fought  her  evil  tempers  manfully. 
It  was  not  an  easy  battle  to  gain.  Ellen  found  that  resent- 
ment and  pride  had  roots  deep  enough  to  keep  her  pulling  up 
the  shoots  for  a  good  while.  She  used  to  get  alone  when  she 
could,  to  read  a  verse,  if  no  more,  of  her  Bible,  and  pray ; 
she  could  forgive  William  and  Margaret  moro  easily  then. 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


29 


Solitude  and  darkness  saw  many  a  prayer  and  tear  of  hers 
that  week.  As  she  struggled  thus  to  get  rid  of  sin  and  to 
be  more  like  what  would  please  God,  she  grew  humble  and 
happy.  Never  was  such  a  struggle  carried  on  by  faith  in 
him,  without  .success.  And  after  a  time,  though  a  twinge  of 
the  old  feeling  might  come,  it  was  very  slight ;  she  would 
bid  William  and  Margaret  good  morning,  and  join  them  in 
any  enterprise  of  pleasure  or  business,  with  a  brow  as  un- 
clouded as  the  sun.  They  however  were  too  conscious  of 
having  behaved  unbecomingly  towards  their  little  stranger 
guest  to  be  over  fond  of  her  company.  For  the  most  part 
she  and  Ellen  Chauncey  were  left  to  each  other. 

Meanwhile  the  famous  needlebook  was  in  a  fair  way  to  be 
finished.  Great  dismay  had  at  first  been  excited  in  the  breast 
of  the  intended  giver,  by  the  discovery  that  Gilbeit  had 
consulted  what  seemed  to  be  a  very  extraordinary  fancy,  in 
making  the  rose  a  yellow  one.  Ellen  did  her  best  to  comfort 
her.  She  asked  Alice,  and  found  there  were  such  things  as 
yellow  roses,  and  they  were  very  beautiful  too ;  and  besides 
it  would  match  so  nicely  the  yellow  butterfly  on  the  other 
leaf. 

I  had  rather  it  wouldn't  match  !"  said  Ellen  Chauncey  ; 
— "  and  it  don't  match  the  rose-colored  silk  besides.  Are  the 
yellow  roses  sweet?" 

"  No,"  said  Ellen, — "  but  this  couldn't  have  been  a  sweet 
rose  at  any  rate,  you  know." 

"  Oh  but,"  said  the  other,  bursting  out  into  a  fresh  passion 
of  inconsolable  tears, — "  I  wanted  it  should  be  the  picture  of 
a  sweet  rose  ! — And  I  think  he  might  have  put  a  purple 
butterfly — yellow  butterflies  are  so  common  !  I  had  a  great 
deal  rather  have  had  a  purple  butterfly  and  a  red  rose  !" 

What  cannot,  be  cured,  however,  must  be  endured.  The 
tears  were  dried,  in  course  of  time,  and  the  needlebook  with 
its  yellow  pictures  and  pink  edges  was  very  neatly  finished. 
Ellen  had  been  busy  too  on  her  own  account.  Alice  had  got 
a  piece -of  fine  hnen  for  her  from  Aliss  Sophia;  the  collar  for 
Mr.  Van  Brunt  had  been  cut  out,  and  Ellen  with  great  plea- 
sure had  made  it.  The  stitching,  the  strings,  and  the  very 
button-hole,  after  infinite  pains,  were  all  finished  by  Thuisday 
night.  She  had  also  made  a  needlecase  for  Alice,  not  of  so 
much  pretension  as  the  other  one ;  this  was  green  morocco 


80 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


lined  with  crimson  satin  ;  no  leaves,  but  ribbon  stitched  in  to 
hold  papers  of  needles,  and  a  place  for  a  bodkin.  Ellen 
worked  very  bard  at  this  ;  it  was  made  with  the  extremest 
care,  and  made  beautifully.  Ellen  Chauncey  admired  it  very 
much,  and  anew  lamented  the  uncouth  variety  of  colors  in 
her  own.  It  was  a  grave  question  whether  pink  oi-  yellow 
ribbons  should  be  used  for  the  latter  ;  Ellen  Montgomery 
recommended  pink,  she  herself  inclined  to  yellow  ;  and  tired 
of  doubting,  at  last  resolved  to  split  the  difference  and  put  one 
string  of  each  color.  Ellen  thought  that  did  not  mend  mat- 
ters, but  wisely  kept  her  thoughts  to  herself.  Besides  the 
needlecase  for  Alice,  she  had  snatched  the  time  whenever 
she  could  get  away  from  Ellen  Chauncey  to  work  at  some- 
thing for  her.  She  had  begged  Alice's  advice  and  help  ;  and 
between  them,  out  of  Ellen's  scraps  of  morocco  and  silk,  they 
had  manufactured  a  little  bag  of  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow, 
and  very  pretty  and  tasteful  withal.  Ellen  thought  it  a  chef- 
d'oeuvre,  and  was  unbounded  in  her  admiration.  It  lay  folded 
up  in  Avhite  paper  in  a  locked  drawer  ready  for  New  Year's 
day.  In  addition  to  all  these  pieces  of  business  John  had 
begun  to  give  her  drawing  lessons,  according  to  his  promise. 
These  became  Ellen's  delight.  She  would  willingly  have 
spent  much  more  time  upon  them  than  he  would  allow 
her.  It  was  the  most  loved  employment  of  the  day. 
Her  teacher's  skill  was  not  greater  than  the  perfect  gen- 
tleness and  kindness  with  which  he  tauo-ht.  Ellen  thouo-ht 
of  Mr.  Howard's  speech  about  gunpowder, — she  could  not 
understand  it. 

"  What  is  your  conclusion  on  the  whole  ?"  asked  John  one 
day,  as  he  stood  beside  her  mending  a  pencil. 

"  Why,"  said  Ellen,  laughing  and  blushing, — "  how  could 
you  guess  what  I  was  thinking  about,  Mr.  John  ?" 

"  Not  very  difficult,  when  you  are  eyeing  me  so  hard." 

"  I  was  thinking,"  said  Ellen, — "  I  don't  know  whether  it 
IS  right  in  me  to  tell  it — because  somebody  said  you" — 

-  Well  ?" 

"  Were  like  gunpowder." 

"  Very  kind  of  somebody  !  And  so  you  have  been  in 
doubt  of  an  explosion  ?" 

*'  No — I  don't  know — I  wondered  what  he  meant." 
Never  believe  what  you  hear  said  of  people,  Ellen;  judge 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


31 


for  yourself.  Look  here — that  house  has  suffered  from  a 
severe  gale  of  wind,  I  should  think — all  the  uprights  are 
slanting  off  to  the  right — can't  you  set  it  up  straight?" 

Ellen  laughed  at  the  tumble-down  condition  of  her  house 
as  thus  pointed  out  to  her,  and  set  about  reforming  it. 

It  w^as  Thursday  afternoon  that  Alice  and  Ellen  were  left 
alone  in  the  library,  several  of  the  family  having  been  called 
out  to  receive  some  visitors  ;  Alice  had  excused  herself,  and 
Ellen  as  soon  as  they  were  gone  nestled  up  to  her  side. 

"  How  pleasant  it  is  to  be  alone  together,  dear  AHce  ! — I 
don't  have  you  even  at  night  now. 

"It  is  very  pleasant,  dear  Ellie  !  Home  will  not  look  dis- 
agreeable again,  will  it?  even  after  all  our  gayety  here." 

"  No  indeed ! — at  least  your  home  won't — I  don't  know 
what  mine  will.  Oh  me  !  I  had  almost  forgotten  aunt  For- 
tune !— " 

"  Never  mind,  dear  Ellie  !  You  and  I  have  each  some- 
thing to  bear — we  must  be  brave  and  bear  it  manfully. 
There  is  a  friend  that  sticketh  closer  than  a  brother,  you 
know.  We  sha'n't  be  unhappy  if  we  do  our  duty  and  love 
Him." 

"  How  soon  is  Mr.  John  going  away  ?" 
"  Not  for  all  next  week.    And  so  long  as  he  stays,  I  do 
not  mean  that  you  shall  leave  me." 
Ellen  cried  for  joy. 

"  I  can  manage  it  with  Miss  Fortune  I  know,"  said  Ahce. 
*'  These  fine  drawing  lessons  must  not  be  interrupted.  John 
is  very  much  pleased  with  your  performances." 

'*  Is  he  ?"  said  Ellen  delighted  ; — "  I  have  taken  all  the  pains 
I  could." 

That  is  the  sure  way  to  success,  Ellie.  But,  Ellie,  I 
want  to  ask  you  about  something.  What  was  that  you  said 
to  Margaret  Dunscombe  about  wanting  money  for  a  New 
Year's  present  ?" 

"  You  know  it  then  !"  cried  Ellen,  starting  up.  "  0  I'm 
so  glad  !  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you  about  it  so  I  didn't  know 
w^hat  to  do,  and  I  thought  I  oughtn't  to.  What  shall  I  do 
about  it,  dear  Alice  ?  How  did  you  know  ?  George  said 
you  were  not  there." 

Mrs.  Chauncey  told  me  ;  she  thought  there  had  been 
some  mistake,  or  something  wrong ; — how  was  it,  Ellen  ?" 


82 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


**  Why,"  said  Ellen,  "  she  was  showing  us  her  ear-rings, 

and  asking  us  what  we  thought  of  them,  and  she  asked  me 
if  I  wouldn't  like  to  have  such  a  pair  ;  and  T  thought  1  would 
a  great  deal  rather  have  the  money  they  cost,  to  buy  other 
things  with,  you  know,  that  I  would  like  better ;  and  I  said 
so  ;  "and  just  then  Mr,  Marshman  came  in,  and  she  called  out 
to  him,  loud,  that  I  wanted  money  for  a  present,  or  would 
like  it  better  than  anything  else,  or  something  like  that.  0, 
Alice,  how  I  felt!  I  was  frightened  ; — but  then  I  hoped  llr. 
Marshman  did  not  hear  her,  for  he  did  not  say  anything  ;  but 
the  next  day  George  told  me  all  about  what  she  had  been 
saying  in  there,  and  0,  it  made  me  so  unhappy  !"  said  poor 
Ellen,  looking  very  dismal.  "  What  will  Mr.  Marshman 
think  of  me  ?  he  will  think  I  expected  a  present,  and  I  never 
dreamed  of  such  a  thing !  it  makes  me  ashamed  to  speak  of 
it  even  ;  and  I  cant  bear  he  should  think  so — I  can't  bear  it ! 
What  shall  I  do,  dear  Ahce  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  can  do,  dear  EHie,  but  be  patient. 
Mr.  Marsliman  vfill  not  think  anything  very  hard  of  you,  I 
dare  say." 

"  But  I  think  he  does  already ;  he  hasn't  kissed  me  since 
that  as  he  did  before  ;  1  know  he  does,  and  I  dont  know  what 
to  do.  How  could  Margaret  say  that !  oh  how  could  she  ! 
it  was  very  unkind. — What  can  I  do  ?"  said  Ellen  again,  after 
a  pause,  and  wiping  away  a  few  tears.  "  Couldn't  Mrs. 
Chauncey  tell  Mr.  Marshman  not  to  give  me  anything,  for 
that  I  never  expected  it,  and  would  a  great  deal  rather  not  ?" 

"  Why  no,  Ellie,  I  do  not  think  that  would  be  exactly  the 
best  or  most  dignified  way." 

"  What  then,  dear  Alice  ?    I'll  do  just  as  you  say." 

"  I  would  just  remain  quiet." 

"  But  Ellen  says  the  things  are  all  put  on  the  plates  in  the 
morning ;  and  if  there  should  be  money  on  mine — 1  don't 
know  what  I  should  do,  I  should  feel  so  badly.  I  couldn't 
keep  it,  Alice  ! — I  couldn't !" 

"  Very  well — you  need  not — but  remain  quiet  in  the  mean- 
while ;  and  if  it  should  be  so,  then  say  what  you  please,  only 
take  care  that  you  say  it  in  a  right  spirifr  and  in  a  right  man- 
ner. Nobody  can  hurt  you  much,  my  child,  while  you  keep 
the  even  path  of  duty  ;  poor  Margarejt  is'  her  own  worst 
enemy." 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


33 


"  Then  if  there  should  be  money  in  the  morning,  I  may  tell 
Mr.  Marshman  the  truth  about  it  ?" 

Certainly — only  do  not  be  in  haste ;  speak  gently." 
*'  Oh  I  wish  everybody  would  be  kind  and  pleasant  always  !" 
said  poor  Ellen,  but  half  comforted. 

"  What  a  sigh  was  there  !"  said  John,  coming  in.  "  What 
is  the  matter  with  my  little  sister  ?" 

Some  of  the  minor  trials  of  life,  John,"  said  AHce,  with  a 
smile. 

What  is  the  matter,  Ellie?" 

**  0,  something  you  can't  help,"  said  Ellen. 

**  And  something  I  mustn't  know.  Well,  to  change  the 
<3cene, — suppose  you  go  with  me  to  visit  the  greenhouse  and 
hot-houses.    Have  you  see  them  yet?" 

"  No,"  said  Ellen,  as  she  eagerly  sprang  forward  to  take 
his  hand  ; — "  Ellen  promised  to  go  with  me,  but  we  have  been 
so  busy." 

"  Will  you  come,  Alice  ?" 

"  Not  I,"  said  Alice, — "  I  wnsb  I  could,  but  I  shall  be  wanted 
elsewhere. 

"  By  whom  I  wonder  so  much  as  by  me,"  said  her  brother. 
"  However,  after  to-morrow  I  will  have  you  all  to  myself." 

As  he  and  Ellen  were  crossing  the  hall  they  met  Mrs. 
Marshman. 

*'  Where  are  you  going,  John  ?"  said  she. 

"  Where  I  ought  to  have  been  before,  ma'am, — to  pay  ray 
respects  to  Mr.  Hutchinson." 

"  You've  not  see||  him  yet !  that  is  very  ungrateful  of  you. 
Hutchinson  is  one  of  your  w^armest  friends  and  admirers. 
There  are  few^  people  he  mentions  with  so  much  respect,  or 
that  he  is  so  glad  to  see,  as  Mr.  John  Humphreys." 

"  A  distinction  I  owe,  I  fear,  principally  to  my  English 
blood,"  said  John  shaking  his  head. 

"It  is  not  altogether  that,"  said  Mrs.  Marshman  lauo^hin gr  • 
"  though  I  do  believe  I  am  the  only  Yankee  good  Hutchinson 
has  ever  made  up  his  mind  entirely  to  like.  But  go  and 
see  him,  do,  he  will  be  very  much  pleased." 

"  Who  is  Mr.  Hutcliinson  ?"  snid  Ellen  as  they  went  on. 

"  He  is  the  gardener,  or  rather  the  head  gardener.  He 
came  out  with  his  master  some  thirty  or  forty  years  ago,  but 
2* 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


34 


his  old  English  prejudice,  -will  go  to  the  grave  with  him,  I 
believe." 

"  But  why  don't  he  like  the  Americans  ?" 

John  laughed.  "It  would  never  do  for  me  to  attempt  to 
answer  that  question,  Ellie  ;  fond  of  going  to  the  bottom  of 
things  as  you  are.  We  should  just  get  to  hard  fighting  about 
tea-time,  and  should  barely  make  peace  by  mid-day  to-morrow 
at  the  most  moderate  calculation.  You  shall  have  an  answer 
to  your  question  however." 

Ellen  could  not  conceive  what  he  meant,  but  resolved  to 
wait  for  his  promised  answer. 

As  they  entered  the  large  and  beautifully  kept  gi-eenhouse 
Hutchinson  came  from  the  further  end  of  it  to  meet  them  ;  an 
old  man,  of  most  respectable  appearance.  He  bowed  very 
civilly,  and  then  slipped  his  pruning  knife  into  his  left  hand  to 
leave  the  right  at  liberty  for  John,  who  shook  it  cordially. 

"  And  why  'aven't  you  been  to  see  me  before,  Mr.  John  ? 
I  have  thought  it  rather  'ard  of  you,  Miss  h' Alice  has  come 
several  times." 

"The  ladies  have  more  leisure,  Mr.  Hutchinson.  You 
look  flourishing  here." 

"  Why  yes  sir, — pretty  middling,  within  doors  ;  but  T  don't 
like  the  climate,  Mr.  John,  I  don't  like  the  climate,  sir. 
There's  no  country  like  h'  England,  I  believe,  for  my  busi- 
ness. 'Ere's  a  fine  rose,  sir, — if  you'll  step  a  bit  this  wa}^ — 
quite  a  new  kind — I  got  it  over  last  h'  autumn — the  Palmer- 
ston  it  is.    Those  are  fine  buds,  sir." 

The  old  man  was  evidently  much  plea^d  to  see  his  visitor, 
and  presently  plunged  him  deep  into  English  politics,  for 
which  he  seemed  to  have  lost  no  interest  by  forty  yeais'  life 
in  America.  As  Ellen  could  not  understand  what  they  were 
talking  about,  she  quitted  John's  side  and  went  wandering 
about  by  herself.  Fiom  the  moment  the  sweet  aromatic 
smell  of  the  plants  had  greeted  her  she  had  been  in  a  high 
state  of  delight ;  and  now,  lost  to  all  the  world  beside,  from 
the  mystery  of  one  beautiful  and  strange  green  thing  to  ano- 
ther, she  went  wondering  and  admiring,  and  now  and  then 
timidly  advancing  her  nose  to  see  if  something  glorious  was 
something  sweet  too.  She  could  hardly  leave  a  superb 
cactus,  in  the  petals  of  which  thvre  was  such  a  singular 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


35 


blending  of  scarlet  and  crimson  as  almost  to  dazzle  her  sight ; 
and  if  the  pleasure  of  smell  could  intoxicate  she  would  have 
reeled  away  from  a  luxuriant  daphne  odorata  in  full  flower, 
over  which  she  feasted  for  a  long  time.  The  variety  of  green 
leaves  alone  was  a  marvel  to  her ;  some  rough  and  brown- 
streaked,  some  shiniflg  as  if  they  were  varnished,  others  of 
hair-like  delicacy  of  structure, — all  lovely.  At  last  she  stood 
still  with  admiration  and  almost  held  her  breath  before  a 
white  Camellia. 

What  does  that  flower  make  you  think  of,  Kllen  ?"  said 
John  coming  up  ;  his  friend  the  gardener  had  left  him  to  seek 
a  newspapei-  in  which  he  wished  to  show  him  a  paragraph. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Ellen, — "  I  couldn't  think  of  any- 
thing but  itself." 

"  It  reminds  me  of  what  I  ought  be — and  of  what  I  shall 
be  if  I  ever  see  heaven ; — it  seems  to  me  the  emblem  of  a 
sinless  pure  spirit, — looking  up  in  fearless  spotlessness.  Do 
you  remember  what  was  said  to  the  old  Church  of  Sardis, — 
*  Thou  hast  a  few  names  that  have  not  defiled  their  garments  ; 
and  they  shall  walk  with  me  in  white,  for  they  are  worthy.'  " 

The  tears  rushed  to  Ellen's  eyes,  she  felt  she  was  so  very 
unhke  this;  but  Mr.  Hutchinson  coming  back  prevented 
anything  more  from  being  said.  She  looked  at  the  white 
Camellia ;  it  seemed  to  speak  to  her. 

"  That's  the  paragraph,  sir,"  said  the  old  gardener,  giving 
the  paper  to  John.  "  'Ere's  a  little  lady  that  is  fond  of  flowers, 
if  I  don't  make  a  mistake ;  this  is  somebody  I've  not  seen 
before.  Is  this  the  little  lady  little  Miss  h'Ellen  was  telling 
me  about  ?" 

"  I  presume  so,"  said  John  ; — she  is  Miss  Ellen  Mont- 
gomery, a  sister  of  mine  Mr.  Hutchinson,  and  Mr.  Marshman's 
guest." 

"  By  both  names  h'  entitled  to  my  greatest  respect,"  said 
the  old  man,  stepping  back  and  making  a  very  low  bow  to 
Ellen  with  his  hand  upon  his  heart,  at  which  she  could  not 
help  laughing.  I  am  very  glad  to  see  Miss  h'  Ellen  ;  Avhat 
can  I  do  to  make  her  remember  old  'Utchinson  ?  Would 
Miss  h'  Ellen  like  a  bouquet?" 

Ellen  did  not  venture  to  say  yes,  but  her  blush  and  spaik- 
ling  eyes  answered  him.  The  old  gardener  understood  her, 
and  was  as  good  as  his  word.    He  began  with  cutting  a  beau- 


S6 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


tiful  sprig  of  a  large  purple  geranium,  then  a  slip  of  lemon 
myrtle.  Ellen  watched  him  as  the  bunch  grew  in  his  hand, 
and  could  hardl}''  believe  her  eyes  as  one  beauty  after  ano- 
ther was  added  to  what  became  a  most  elegant  bouquet.  And 
most  sweet  too  ;  to  her  joy  th<^  delicious  daphne  and  fragrant 
lemon  blossom  went  to  make  part  of  it  Her  thanks,  when 
it  was  given  her,  were  made  with  few  words  but  with  all  her 
face ;  the  old  gardener  smiled,  and  was  quite  satisfied  that 
his  gift  was  not  thrown  away.  He  afterwards  showed  them 
his  hot-houses,  where  Ellen  was  astonished  and  very  much 
interested  to  see  ripe  oranges  and  lemons  in  abundance,  and 
pines  too,  such  as  she  had  been  eating  since  -she  came  to 
Ventnor,  thinking  nothing  less  than  that  they  grew  so  near 
home.    The  grapes  had  all  been  cut. 

There  was  to  be  quite  a  party  at  Ventnor  in  the  evening  of 
New  Year's  day.  Ellen  knew  this,  and  destined  her  precious 
flowers  for  Alice's  adornment.  How  to  keep  them  in  the 
meanwhile  ?  She  consulted  Mr.  John,  and  according  to  his 
advice  took  them  to  Mrs.  Bland  the  housekeeper,  to  be  put 
in  water  and  kept  in  a  safe  place  for  her  till  the  time.  She 
knew  Mrs.  Bland,  for  Ellen  Chauncey  and  she  had  often  gone 
to  her  room  to  work  where  none  of  the  children  would  find 
and  trouble  them.  Mrs.  Bland  promised  to  take  famous  care 
of  the  flowers,  and  said  she  would  do  it  with  the  greatest 
pleasure.  Mr.  Marshman's  guests,  she  added  smiling, — must 
have  everything  they  wanted. 

"  What  does  that  mean,  Mrs.  Bland  ?"  said  Ellen. 

"  Why,  you  see.  Miss  Ellen,  there's  a  deal  of  company 
always  coming,  and  some  is  Mrs.  Gillespie's  friends,  and  some 
Mr.  Hov\'avd's,  and  some  to  see  Miss  Sophia  more  particularly, 
and  S^^J^feJr-lpag  to  Mrs.  Marshman,  or  the  whole  family 
mayt>,*v..^I|^^  C  .V  and  then  Mr.  Marshman  has  an  old  English 
frierji*^  ||^c^'  ;*^.:it  he  sets  the  greatest  store  by  ;  and  them  he 
calni^^llfc  '/^ts ;  and  the  best  in  the  house  is  hardly  good 
or  the  country  either." 
*  '.'I^^Mrfe  1  am  one  of  Mr.  Marshman's  guests  !"  said  Ellen, 
know  what  it  meant." 

She  saved  out  one  little  piece  of  rose-geranium  from  her 
flowers,  for  the  gratification  of  her  own  nose ;  and  skipped 
ciway  through  the  hall  to  rejoin  her  companions,  very  light- 
hearted  indeed. 


CHAPTEK  XXXIL 


This  life,  sae  far's  I  understand, 
Is  a'  enchanted  fairy-land, 
Where  pleasure  is  the  magic  wand, 

That  wielded  right, 
Makes  hours  like  minutes,  hand  in  hand, 

Dance  by  fu'  light. 

Burns. 

New  Year's  morning  dawned. 

"  How  I  wish  breakfast  was  over  !" — thought  Ellen  as  she 
was  dressing.  However,  there  is  no  way  of  getting  over  this  hfe 
but  by  going  through  it ;  so  when  the  bell  rang  she  went 
down  as  usual.  Mr.  Marshman  had  decreed  that  he  would 
not  have  a  confusion  of  gifts  at  the  breakfast  table  ;  other 
people  might  make  presents  in  their  own  way  ;  they  must  not 
interfere  with  his.  Needlecases,  bags,  and  so  forth,  must 
therefore  wait  another  opportunity  ;  and  Ellen  Chauncey  de- 
cided it  would  just  make  the  pleasure  so  much  longer,  and 
was  a  great  improvement  on  the  old  plan.  "  Happy  New 
Years"  and  pleasant  greetings  were  exchanged  as  the  party 
gathered  in  the  breakfast  room ;  pleasure  sat  on  all  faces,  ex- 
cept Ellen's,  and  many  a  one  wore  a  broad  smile  as  they  sat 
down  to  table.  For  the  napkins  were  in  singular  disarrange- 
ment this  morning ;  instead  of  being  neatly  folded  up  on  the 
plates,  in  their  usual  fashion,  they  were  in  all  sorts  of  disor- 
der,— sticking  up  in  curious  angles,  some  high,  some  low, 
some  half  folded,  some  quite  unfolded,  according  to  the  size 
and  shape  of  that  which  they  covered.  It  was  worth  while 
to  see  that  long  tableful,  and  the  faces  of  the  company,  before 
yet  a  napkin  was  touched.  An  anxious  glance  at  her  own 
showed  Ellen  that  it  lay  quite  flat ;  Ahce's,  which  was  next, 
had  an  odd  little  rising  in  the  middle,  as  if  there  were  a  small 
dumpling  under  it.  Ellen  was  in  an  agony  for  this  pause  to 
come  to  an  end.    It  was  broken  by  some  of  the  older  persons. 


38 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


and  then  in  a  trice  every  plate  was  uncovered.  And  then 
what  a  buzz  ! — pleasure  and  thanks  and  admiration,  and  even 
laughter.  Ellen  dreaded  at  first  to  look  at  her  plate  ;  she  be- 
thought her  however  that  if  she  waited  long  slie  would  have 
to  do  it  with  all  eyes  upon  her  ;  she  lifted  tlie  napkin  slowh'- 
* — yes — just  as  she  feared — there  lay  a  clean  bank  note — of 
what  value  she  could  not  see,  for  confusion  covered  her  ;  the 
blood  rushed  to  her  cheeks  and  the  tears  to  her  eyes.  She 
could  not  have  spoken,  and  happily  it  was  no  time  then ; 
everybody  else  was  speaking  ;  she  could  not  have  been  heard. 
She  had  time  to  cool  and  recollect  herself ;  but  she  sat  with 
her  eyes  cast  down,  fastened  upon  her  plate  and  the  unfor- 
tunate bank  bill,  which  she  detested  Avith  all  her  heart.  She 
did  not  know  what  Ahce  had  received ;  she  understood 
nothing  that  was  going  on,  till  Alice  touched  hei-  and  said 
gently,  "  Mr.  Marshman  is  speaking  to  you,  Ellen." 
"  Sir  !"  said  Ellen,  starting. 

"  You  need  not  look  so  terrified,"  said  Mr.  Marshman, 
smiling, — "  I  only  asked  you  if  your  bill  was  a  counterfeit — 
something  seems  to  be  wrong  about  it." 

Ellen  looked  at  her  plate  and  hesitated.    Her  lip  trembled. 

"What  is  it?"  continued  the  old  gentleman.  "  Is  any- 
thing the  matter." 

Ellen  desperately  took  up  the  bill,  and  with  burning  cheeks 
marched  to  his  end  of  the  table. 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you  sir,  but  I  had  a  great  deal 
rather  not ; — if  you  please — if  you  will  please  to  be  so  good 
as  to  let  me  give  it  back  to  you — 1  should  be  very  glad  " — 

"  Why  hoity  toity  !"  said  the  old  gentleman, — "  what's  all 
this  ?  what's  the  matter  ?  don't  you  like  it  ?  I  thought  I 
was  doing  the  very  thing  that  would  please  you  best  of  all." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  you  should  think  so,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  who 
had  recovered  a  little  breath,  but  had  the  greatest  difficulty 
to  keep  back  her  tears  ; — "  I  never  thought  of  such  a  thing  as 
your  giving  me  anything,  sir,  till  somebody  spoke  of  it ;  and 
I  had  rather  never  have  anything  in  the  world  than  that  you 
should  think  what  you  thought  about  me." 

"  What  did  I  think  about  you  ?" 

"  George  told  me  that  somebody  told  you,  sir,  T  wanted 
money  for  my  present." 
"  And  didn't  you  say  so  ?" 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


39 


"  Indeed  I  didn't,  sir  !"  said  Ellen  with  sudden  fire.    "  I 
never  thought  of  such  a  thing  !" 
"  What  did  you  say  then  ?" 

*'  Mai-praret  was  showino;  us  her  ear-rinofs,  and  she  asked 
me  if  I  wouldn't  like  to  have  some  like  them  ;  and  I  couldn't 
help  thinking  I  would  a  great  deal  rather  have  the  money 
they  would  cost  to  buy  something  for  Alice  ;  and  just  when 
I  said  so  you  came  in,  sir,  and  she  said  what  she  did.  I  was 
very  much  ashamed,  I  wasn't  thinking  of  you,  sir,  at  all, 
nor  of  New  Year." 

"Then  you  would  like  something  else  better  than  money." 

"  No  sir,  nothing  at  all  if  you  please.  If  you'll  only  be  so 
good  as  not  to  give  me  this  I  will  be  very  much  obliged  to 
you  indeed  ;  and  please  not  to  think  I  could  be  so  shameful 
as  you  thought  I  was." 

Ellen's  face  was  not  to  be  withstood.  The  old  gentleman 
took  the  bill  from  her  hand, 

"  I  will  never  think  anything  of  you,"  said  he,  "  but  what 
is  the  very  tip-top  of  honorable  propriety.  But  you  make 
me  ashamed  now — what  am  I  going  to  do  with  this  ?  here 
have  you  come  and  made  me  a  present,  and  I  feel  very 
aAvkward  indeed." 

"  I  don't  care  what  you  do  with  it,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  laugh- 
ing, though  in  imminent  danger  of  bursting  into  tears  ; — "  I 
am  very  glad  it  is  out  of  my  hands." 

"  But  you  needn't  think  I  am  going  to  let  you  off  so,"  said 
he  ; — "  you  must  give  me  half-a-dozen  kisses  at  least  to  prove 
that  you  have  forgiven  me  for  making  so  great  a  blunder." 

"  Half-a-dozen  is  too  many  at  once,"  said  Ellen,  gayly  ; — 
"  three  now,  and  three  to-night." 

So  she  gave  the  old  gentleman  three  kisses,  but  he  caught 
her  in  his  arms  and  gave  her  a  dozen  at  least ;  after  which  he 
found  out  that  the  waiter  was  holding  a  cup  of  coffee  at  his 
elboAV,  and  Ellen  went  back  to  her  place  with  a  very  good 
appetite  for  her  breakfast. 

After  breakfast  the  needlecases  were  delivered.  Both  gave 
the  most  entire  satisfaction.  Mrs.  Chauncey  assured  her 
daughter  that  she  would  quite  as  hef  have  a  yellow  as  a  red  rose 
on  the  cover,  and  that  she  liked  the  inscription  extremely  ; 
which  the  httle  girl  acknowledged  to  have  been  a  joint  device 


40 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


of  her  own  and  Ellen's.  Ellen's  bag  gave  great  delight  and 
was  paraded  all  over  the  house. 

After  the  bustle  of  thanks  and  rejoicing  was  at  last  over,  and 
when  she  had  a  minute  to  herself,  which  Ellen  Chauncey  did  not 
give  her  foi  a  good  while,  Ellen  bethought  her  of  her  flowers, 
— a  sweet  gift  still  to  be  made.  Why  not  make  it  now  ?  why 
should  not  Alice  have  the  pleasure  of  them  all  day  ?  A  bright 
thought !  Ellen  ran  forthwith  to  the  housekeeper's  room, 
and  after  a  long;  admirini^  look  at  her  treasures,  carried  them 
glass  and  all  to  the  library,  where  Alice  and  John  often  were 
in  the  morning  alone.  Alice  thanked  her  in  the  way  she  liked 
best,  and  then  the  flowers  were  smelled  and  admired  afresh. 

"  Nothing  could  have  been  pleasanter  to  me,  Ellie,  except 
Mr.  Marshman's  gift." 

"  And  what  was  that,  Alice  ?    I  haven't  seen  it  yet." 

Alice  pulled  out  of  her  pocket  a  small  round  morocco  case, 
the  very  thing  that  Ellen  had  thought  looked  hke  a  dumpling 
under  the  napkin,  and  opened  it. 

"  It's  Mr.  John  !"  exclaimed  Ellen.    "  0  how  beautiful !" 

Neither  of  her  hearers  could  help  laughing. 

"  It  is  very  fine,  Ellie,"  said  Alice  ;  "  you  are  quite  right. 
Now  I  know  what  was  the  business  that  took  John  to  Ran- 
dolph every  da}^  and  kept  him  there  so  long,  while  I  was 
wondering  at  him  unspeakably.    Kind,  kind  Mr.  Marshman." 

"Did  Mr.  John  get  anything?" 

"  Ask  him,  Ellie." 

"  Did  you  get  anything,  Mr.  John  ?"  said  Ellen,  going  up 
to  him  where  he  was  reading  on  the  sofa. 

"  I  o-ot  this,"  said  John,  handino-  her  a  little  book  which 
lay  beside  him. 

"  What  is  this  ?  Wime's — Wiem's — Life  of  Washington — 
Washington?  he  was — May  I  look  at  it  ?" 

"  Certainly  !" 

She  opened  the  book,  and  presently  sat  down  on  the  floor 
where  she  was  by  the  side  of  the  L.ofa.  Whatever  she  had 
found  within  the  leaves  of  the  book,  she  had  certainly  lost 
herself.  An  hour  passed.  Ellen  had  not  spoken  or  moved 
except  to  turn  over  kaves. 

"  Ellen  !"  said  John. 

She  looked  up,  her  cheeks  colored  high. 


41 


"  What  have  you  found  there  ?"  said  he,  smiHng. 

"  0  a  great  deal !  But — did  Mr.  Marshman  give  3'ou  this  ?" 

"  No." 

"  Oh  !"  said  Ellen,  looking  puzzled, — "  I  thought  you  said 
you  got  this  this  morning." 

No,  I  got  it  last  night.    I  got  it  for  you,  Ellie." 

"  For  me  !"  said  Ellen,  her  color  deepening  very  much, — 
"  for  me  !  did  you  ?  0  thank  you  ! — oh  I'm  so  much  obliged 
to  you,  Mr.  John." 

*'  It  is  only  an  answer  to  one  of  your  questions." 

"  This  !  is  it  ? — I  don't  know  what,  I  am  sure.  Oh  I  wish 
T  could  do  something  to  please  you,  Mr.  John  !" 

You  shall,  Ellie ;  you  shall  give  me  a  brother's  right 
again." 

Blushingly  Ellen  approached  her  lips  to  receive  one  of  his 
grave  kisses  ;  and  then,  not  at  all  displeased,  went  down  on 
the  floor  and  was  lost  in  her  book. 

Oh  the  long  joy  of  that  New  Year's  day  ! — how  shall  it 
be  told  ?  The  pleasure  of  that  delightful  book,  in  which  she 
was  wrapped  the  whole  day  ;  even  when  called  off,  as  she 
often  was,  by  Ellen  Chauncey  to  help  her  in  fifty  little  matters 
of  business  or  pleasure.  These  were  attended  to,  and  faith- 
fully and  cheerfully,  but  the  hook  was  in  her  head  all  the 
while.  And  this  pleasure  was  mixed  with  Alice's  pleasure, 
the  flowers  and  the  miniature,  and  Mr.  Marshman's  restored 
kindness.  She  never  met  John's  or  Alice's  eye  that  day 
without  a  smile.  Even  when  she  went  to  be  dressed  her  book 
went  with  her,  and  was  laid  on  the  bed  within  sight,  ready 
to  be  taken  up  the  moment  she  was  at  liberty.  Ellen  Chaun- 
cey lent  her  a  white  frock  which  was  found  to  answer  very 
well  with  a  tuck  let  out ;  and  Alice  herself  dressed  her. 
While  this  was  doing,  Margaret  Dunscombe  put  her  head  in 
at  the  door  to  ask  Anne,  Miss  Sophia's  maid,  if  she  was  almost 
ready  to  come  and  curl  her  hair. 

"  Indeed  I  can't  say  that  I  am.  Miss  Margaret,"  said  Anne. 
I've  something  to  do  for  Miss  Humphreys,  and  Miss  Sophia 
hasn't  so  much  as  done  the  first  thino-  towards  beojinninor  to 
get  ready  yet.    It  11  be  a  good  hour  and  more." 

Margaret  went  away  exclaiming  impatiently  that  she 
could  get  nobody  to  help  her,  and  would  have  to  wait  till 
everybody  was  down  stairs. 


42 


THE  WIDE,  WrOE  WORLD. 


A  few  minutes  after  she  heard  Ellen's  voice  at  the  door  of 
her  room  asking  if  she  might  come  in. 

"  Yes — who's  that  ? — what  do  you  want  ?" 
"  I'll  fix  your  hair  if  you'll  let  me,"  said  Ellen. 
"  You  ?    I  don't  believe  you  can." 

"  0  yes  I  can  ;  I  used  to  do  mamma's  very  often  ;  I  am 
not  afraid  if  you'll  trust  me." 

"  Well,  thank  you,  I  don't  care  if  you  try  then,"  said  Mar- 
garet, seating  herself, — "  it  won't  do  any  harm  at  any  rate  ; 
and  1  want  to  be  down  stairs  before  anybody  gets  here  ;  I 
think  it's  half  the  fun  to  see  them  come  in.  Bless  me  !  you're 
dressed  and  all  ready." 

Margaret's  hair  was  in  long  thick  curls  ;  it  was  not  a  tri- 
fling matter  to  dress  them.  Ellen  plodded  through  it  patiently 
and  faithfully,  taking  great  pains,  and  doing  the  work  well ; 
and  then  went  back  to  Alice.  Margaret's  thanks,  not  very 
gracefully  given,  would  have  been  a  poor  reward  for  the  loss 
of  three-quarters  of  an  hour  of  pleasure.  But  Ellen  was  very 
happy  in  having  done  right.  It  was  no  longer  time  to  read ; 
they  must  go  down  stairs. 

The  New  Year's  party  was  a  nondescript, — young  and  old 
together  ;  a  goodly  number  of  both  were  gathered  from  Ran- 
dolph and  the  neighboring  country,  There  were  games  for 
the  young,  dancing  for  the  gay,  and  a  superb  supper  for  all ; 
and  the  -big  bright  rooms  were  full  of  bright  faces.  It  was  a 
very  happy  evening  to  Ellen.  For  a  good  part  of  it  Mr. 
Marsh  man  took  possession  of  her,  or  kept  her  near  him  ;  and 
his  extreme  kindness  would  alone  have  made  the  evening  pass 
pleasantly  ;  she  was  sure  he  was  her  firm  friend  again. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening  Mrs.  Chauncey  found  occasion 
to  ask  her  about  her  journey  up  the  river,  without  at  all  men- 
tionino-  Maroaret  or  what  she  had  said.  Ellen  answered  that 
*»he  had  come  with  Mrs.  Dunscombe  and  her  daughter. 

"  Did  you  have  a  pleasant  time  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Chauncey. 

"  Why  no  ma'am,"  said  Ellen, — "  I  don't  know — it  was 
partly  pleasant  and  partly  unpleasant." 
What  made  it  so,  love  ?" 

"  I  had  left  mamma  that  morning,  and  that  made  me  un- 
happy." 

"  But  you  said  it  was  partly  pleasant  ?"' 

**  0  that  vi  as  because  I  had  such  a  good  friend  on  board/' 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


43 


said  Ellen,  her  face  lighting  up,  as  his  image  came  before 
her. 

"  Who  was  that  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  ma'am  who  he  was." 

A  stranger  to  you  ?" 
"  Yes  ma'am — I  never  saw  him  before — I  wish  I  could 
se<^  him  again." 

"  Where  did  you  find  him  ?" 

"  I  didn't  find  him — he  found  me,  when  I  was  sitting  up  on 
the  highest  part  of  the  boat." 
"  And  your  friends  with  you?" 
''What  friends?" 

"  Mrs.  Dunscombe  and  her  daughter." 

*'  No  ma'am — they  were  down  in  the  cabin." 

"  And  what  business  had  vou  to  be  wanderinof  about  the 
boat  alone  ?"  said  Mr.  Marsh  man  good-hum  oredly. 

''  They  were  strangers,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  coloring  a  little. 

"  W^ell  so  was  this  man — your  friend — a  stranger  too, 
wasn't  he  ?" 

"  0  he  was  a  very  different  stranger,"  said  Ellen  smiling, 
— "and  he  wasn't  a  stranger  long,  besides." 

"W^ell  you  must  tell  me  more  about  him, — come,  I'm 
curious  ; — Avhat  sort  of  a  strange  friend  was  this  ?" 

"  He  wasn't  a  strange  friend,"  said  Ellen  laughing  ; — "  he 
was  a  very,  very  good  friend  ;  he  took  care  of  me  the  whole 
day ;  he  was  very  good  and  ver}-  kind." 

"  What  kind  of  a  man?"  said  Mrs.  CLauncey  ; — "a  gen- 
tleman ?" 

"  0  yes  ma'am  !"  said  Ellen  looking  surprised  at  the  ques- 
tion.   "  I  am  sure  he  was." 
"  What  did  he  look  like  ?" 

Ellen  tried  to  tell,  but  the  portrait  was  not  very  distitict. 

"  W^hat  did  he  wear  ?    Coat  or  cloak  ?" 

"  Coat — dark  brown,  I  think." 

"  This  was  in  the  end  of  October,  wasn't  it  ?" 

Ellen  thought  a  moment  and  answered  "  yes." 

"  And  you  don't  know  his  name  ?" 

"  No  ma'am  ;  I  wish  I  did." 

*•  I  can  tell  you,"  said  Mrs.  Chauncej^  smiling ; — "  he  is  one 
of  my  best  friends  too,  Ellen ;  it  is  my  brother,  Mr.  George 
Marshman." 


44 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


How  Ellen's  face  crimsoned  !  Mr.  Marshman  asked  how 
she  knew. 

"  It  was  then  he  came  up  the  river,  jou  know,  sir ;  and 
don't  you  remember  his  speaking  of  a  little  girl  on  board  the 
boat  who  was  traveling  with  strangers,  and  whom  he  endea- 
vored to  befriend  ?  I  had  forgotten  it  entirely  till  a  minute 
or  two  ago." 

"  Miss  Margaret  Dunscombe !"  cried  George  Walsh, 
"  w^hat  kind  of  a  person  was  that  you  said  Ellen  was  so  fond 
of  when  you  came  up  the  river  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  nor  care,"  said  Margaret.  *'  Somebody 
she  picked  up  somewhere." 

"  It  was  Mr.  George  Marshman  !" 

"  It  wasn't !" 

"  Uncle  George !"  exclaimed  Ellen  Chauncey,  running  up 
to  the  group  her  cousin  had  quitted  ; — "  My  uncle  George  ? 
Do  you  know  uncle  George,  Ellen  ?" 

"  Very  much — I  mean — yes,"  said  Ellen. 

Ellen  Chauncey  was  delighted.  So  was  Ellen  Montgo- 
mery. It  seemed  to  bring  the  w^iole  family  nearer  to  her, 
and  they  felt  it  too.  Mrs.  Marshman  kissed  her  when  she 
heard  it,  and  said  she  remembered  ver}^  well  her  son's  speak- 
ing of  her,  and  was  very  glad  to  find  who  it  was.  And  now, 
Ellen  thought,  she  would  surely  see  him  again  some  time. 

The  next  day  they  left  Ventnor.  Ellen  Chauncey  was 
very  sorry  to  lose  her  new  friend,  and  begged  she  would  come 
again  "  as  soon  as  she  could."  All  the  family  said  the  same. 
Mr.  Marshman  told  her  she  must  give  him  a  large  place  in 
her  heart,  or  he  should  be  jenlous  of  her  "  strange  friend  ;" 
and  Alice  was  charged  to  bring  her  whenever  she  came  to  see 
them. 

The  drive  back  to  Carra-carra  was  scarcely  less  pleasant 
than  the  drive  out  had  been  ;  and  home,  Ellen  said,  looked 
lovely.  That  is,  Alice's  home,  which  she  began  to  think  more 
her  own  than  any  other.  The  pleasure  of  the  past  ten  days, 
though  great,  had  not  been  unmixed  ;  the  week  that  followed 
was  one  of  perfect  enjoyment.  In  Mr.  Humphreys'  house- 
hold there  was  an  atmosphere  of  peace  and  purity  that  even 
a  child  could  feel,  and  in  w^hich  such  a  child  as  Ellen  throve 
exceedingly.  The  drawing  lessons  went  on  with  great  suc- 
cess ;  other  lessons  were  begun  ;  there  were  fine  long  walks. 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


45 


and  charming  sleigh -rides,  and  more  than  one  visit  to  Mrs. 
Vawse ;  and  what  Ellen  perhaps  liked  best  of  all,  the  long 
evenings  of  conversation  and  reading  aloud,  and  bright  fire- 
lights, and  brighter  sympathy  and  intelligence  and  affection. 
That  week  did  them  all  good,  and  no  one  more  than  Ellen. 

It  was  a  httle  hard  to  go  back  to  Miss  Fortune's  and  begin 
her  old  life  there.  She  went  in  the  evening  of  the  day  John 
had  departed.    They  were  at  supper. 

"  Well !"  said  Miss  Fortune,  as  Ellen  entered, — have  you 
got  enough  of  visiting  ?  I  should  be  ashamed  to  go  where  I 
wasn't  wanted,  for  my  part." 

"  I  haven't,  aunt  Fortune,"  said  Ellen. 

"  She's  been  nowhere  but  what's  done  her  good,"  said  Mr. 
Van  Brunt ;  "  she's  reely  growed  handsome  since  she's  been 
away." 

"  Grown  a  fiddlestick  !"  said  Miss  Fortune. 

**  She  couldn't  grow  handsomer  than  she  was  before,"  said 
the  old  grandmother,  hugging  and  kissing  her  little  grand- 
daughter with  great  delight ; — "  the  sweetest  posie  in  the 
garden  she  always  was  !" 

Mr.  Van  Brunt  looked  as  if  he  entirely  agreed  with  the  old 
lady.  That,  while  it  made  some  amends  for  Miss  Fortune's 
dryness,  perhaps  increased  it.  She  remarked,  that  "she 
thanked  heaven  she  could  always  make  herself  contented  at 
home  ;"  which  Ellen  could  not  help  thinking  was  a  happiness 
for  the  rest  of  the  world. 

In  the  matter  of  the  collar,  it  was  hard  to  say  whether  the 
giver  or  receiver  had  the  most  satisfaction.  Ellen  had 
begged  him  not  to  speak  of  it  to  her  aunt ;  and  accordingly 
one  Sunday  when  he  came  there  with  it  on,  both  he  and  she 
were  in  a  state  of  exquisite  delight.  Miss  Fortune's  attention 
was  at  last  aroused  ;  she  made  a  particular  review  of  him, 
and  ended  it  by  declaring  that  "  he  looked  uncommonly  dan- 
dified, but  she  could  not  make  out  what  he  had  done  to 
himself ;"  a  remark  which  transported  Mr.  Van  Brunt  and 
Ellen  beyond  all  bounds  of  prudence. 

Nancy's  Bible,  which  had  been  purchased  for  her  at  Ran- 
dolph, was  given  to  her  the  first  opportunity.  Ellen  anxiously 
watched  her  as  she  slowly  turned  it  over,  her  face  showing 
however  very  decided  approbation  of  the  style  of  the  gift. 
She  shook  her  head  once  or  twice,  and  then  said, 


46 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


"  What  did  you  give  this  to  me  for,  Ellen  ?" 

"  Because  I  wanted  to  give  you  something  for  NeAv  Year," 
said  Ellen, — "  and  I  thought  that  would  be  the  best  thing, — 
if  you  would  only  read  it, — it  would  make  you  so  happy  and 
good." 

"  Vou  are  good,  I  believe,"  said  Nancy,  "  but  I  don't 
expect  ever  to  be  myself — I  don't  think  I  could  be.  You 
might  as  well  teach  a  snake  not  to  wriggle." 

*'  I  am  not  good  at  all,"  said  Ellen, — "  we're  none  of  us 
good," — and  the  tears  rose  to  her  eyes, — "  but  the  Bible  will 
teach  us  how  to  be.  If  you'll  only  read  it  I — please  Nancy, 
do  !  say  you  will  read  a  little  every  day." 

*'  You  don't  want  me  to  make  a  promise  I  shouldn't  keep, 
I  guess,  do  you  ?" 
•  "  No,"  said  Ellen. 

Well  I  shouldn't  keep  that,  so  I  won't  promise  it ;  but  I 
tell  you  what  I  will  do, — I'll  take  precious  fine  care  of  it,  and 
keep  it  always  for  your  sake." 

"  Well,"  said  Elled  sighing, — "  I  am  glad  you  will  even  do 
so  much  as  that.  But  Nancy — before  you  begin  to  read  the 
Bible  you  may  have  to  go  where  you  never  can  read  it,  nor 
be  happy  nor  good  neither." 

Nancy  made  no  answer,  but  walked  away,  Ellen  thought, 
rather  more  soberly  than  usual. 

This  conversation  had  cost  Ellen  some  effort.  It  had  not 
been  made  without  a  good  deal  of  thought  and  some  prayer. 
She  could  not  hope  she  had  done  much  good,  but  she  had 
done  her  duty.  And  it  happened  that  Mr.  Van  Brunt; 
standing  behind  the  angle  of  the  wall,  had  heard  every  word. 


CHAPIEE 


XXXIII. 


'  If  erst  he  wUlieil,  now  he  longed  sore." 

Fairfax. 

Ellen's  life  had  nothing  to  mark  it  formanj^  months.  The 
rest  of  the  winter  passed  quietly  away,  eveiy  day  being  full 
of  employment.  At  home  the  state  of  matters  was  rather 
bettered.  Either  Miss  Fortune  was  softened  by  Ellen's  gentle 
inoffensive  ways,  and  obedient  usefulness  ;  or  she  had  resolved 
to  bear  what  could  not  be  helped,  and  make  the  best  of  the 
little  inmate  she  could  not  get  rid  of.  She  was  certainly  re- 
solved to  make  the  most  of  her.  Ellen  was  kept  on  the  jump 
a  great  deal  of  the  time  ;  she  was  runner  of  errands  and  maid 
of  all  work  ;  to  set  the  table  and  clear  it  was  only  a  trifle  in 
the  list  of  her  every  day  duties ;  and  they  were  not  ended 
till  the  last  supper  dish  was  put  away  and  the  hearth  swept 
lip.  Miss  Fortune  never  spared  herself  and  never  spared 
Ellen,  so  long  as  she  had  any  occasion  for  her. 

There  were  however  long  pieces  of  time  that  were  left 
free ;  these  Ellen  seized  for  her  studies  and  used  most  dili- 
gently. Urged  on  by  a  three  or  four-fold  motive.  For  the  love 
of  them,  and  for  her  own  sake, — that  John  might  think  she 
had  done  well, — that  she  might  presently  please  and  satisfy 
Alice, — above  all,  that  her  mother's  Avishes  might  be  answered. 
This  thought,  whenever  it  came,  was  a  spur  to  her  efforts  ; 
so  was  each  of  the  others ;  and  Christian  feeling  added  ano- 
ther and  kept  all  the  rest  in  force.  Without  this,  indolence 
might  have  weakened,  or  temptation  surprised  her  resolu- 
tion ;  httle  Ellen  was  open  to  both  ;  but  if  ever  she  found 
herself  growing  careless,  from  either  cause,  conscience  was 
sure  to  smite  her  ;  and  then  would  rush  in  all  the  motives 
that  called  upon  her  to  persevere.  Soon  faithfulness  began 
to  bring  its  reward.  With  dehght  she  found  herself  getting 
the  better  of  difficulties,  beginning  to  see  a  little  through  the 


48 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


mists  of  ignorance,  making  some  sensible  progress  on  the 
long  road  of  learning.  Study  grew  delightful ;  her  lessons 
with  Alice  one  of  her  greatest  enjoyments.  And  as  they 
were  a  labor  of  love  to  both  teacher  and  scholar,  and  as  it 
was  the  aim  of  each  to  see  quite  to  the  bottom  of  every  mat- 
ter, where  it  was  possible,  and  to  leave  no  difficulties  behind 
them  on  the  road  which  they  had  not  cleared  away,  no  won- 
der Ellen  went  forward  steadily  and  rapidl3^  Reading  also 
became  a  wonderful  pleasure.  Weems'  Life  of  Washington 
was  read,  and  read,  and  read  over  again,  till  she  almost  knew 
it  by  heart ;  and  from  that  she  went  to  Alice's  library,  and 
ransacked  it  for  what  would  suit  her.  Happily  it  was  a  well 
picked  one,  and  Ellen  could  not  light  upon  many  books  that 
would  do  her  mischief.  For  those,  Alice's  wish  was  enough  ; 
— she  never  opened  them.  Furthermore  Alice  insisted  that 
when  Ellen  had  once  fairly  begun  a  book  she  should  go 
through  with  it ;  not  capriciously  leave  it  for  another,  nor 
have  half-a-dozen  about  at  a  time.  But  when  Ellen  had  read 
it  once  she  commonly  wanted  to  go  over  it  again,  and  seldom 
laid  it  aside  until  she  had  sucked  the  sweetness  all  out  of  it. 

As  for  drawing,  it  could  not  go  on  very  fast  while  the  cold 
weather  lasted.  Ellen  had  no  place  at  home  where  she  could 
spread  out  her  paper  and  copies  without  danger  of  being  dis- 
turbed. Her  only  chance  was  at  the  parsonage.  John  had 
put  all  her  pencils  in  order  before  he  went,  and  had  left  her 
an  abundance  of  copies,  marked  as  she  was  to  take  them. 
They,  or  some  of  them,  were  bestowed  in  Alice's  desk ;  and 
whenever  Ellen  had  a  spare  hour  or  two,  of  a  fine  morning 
or  afternoon,  she  made  the  best  of  her  way  to  the  mountain  ; 
it  made  no  difterence  whether  Alice  were  at  home  or  not ; 
she  went  in,  coaxed  up  the  fire,  and  began  her  work.  It 
happened  many  a  time  that  Alice,  coming  home  from  a  walk  or 
a  run  in  the  woods,  saw  the  httle  hood  and  cloak  on  the 
settee  before  she  opened  the  glass  door,  and  knew  very  well 
how  she  should  find  Ellen,  bending  intently  over  her  desk. 
These  runs  to  the  mountain  were  very  frequent ;  sometimes 
to  draw,  sometimes  to  recite,  always  to  see  Alice  and  be 
happy.  Ellen  grew  rosy  and  hardy,  and  in  spite  of  her  sepa- 
ration from  her  mother,  she  was  very  happy  too.  Her  ex- 
treme and  varied  occupation  made  this  possible.  She  had 
no  time  to  indulge  useless  sorrow ;  on  the  contrary,  her 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


49 


thoughts  were  taken  up  with  agreeable  matters,  either  doing 
or  to  be  done  ;  and  at  night  she  was  far  too  tired  and  sleepy 
to  lie  awake  musing.  And  besides,  she  hoped  that  her 
mother  would  come  back  in  the  spring,  or  the  summer  at 
farthest.  It  is  true  Ellen  had  no  liking  for  the  kind  of  busi- 
ness her  aunt  gave  her  ;  it  was  oftentimes  a  trial  of  temper 
and  patience.  Miss  Fortune  was  not  the  pleasantest  w^ork- 
mistress  in  the  world,  and  Ellen  was  apt  to  wish  to  be  doing 
somethinof  else :  but  after  all  this  was  not  amiss.  Besides 
the  discipline  of  character,  these  trials  made  the  pleasant 
things  with  which  they  were  mixed  up  seem  doubly  pleasant ; 
the  disagreeable  parts  of  her  life  relished  the  agreeable  won- 
derfully. After  spending  the  whole  morning  with  Miss 
Fortune  in  the  depths  of  housework,  how  delightful  it  was 
to  forget  all  in  drawing  some  nice  little  cottage  with  a  bit  of 
stone  wall  and  a  barrel  in  front ;  or  to  go  with  Alice,  in 
thought,  to  the  south  of  France,  and  learn  how  the  peasants 
manage  their  vines  and  make  the  wine  from  them  ;  or  run  over 
the  Rock  of  Gibraltar  with  the  monkeys ;  or  at  another  time, 
seated  on  a  little  bench  in  the  chimney  corner,  Avhen  the  fire 
blazed  up  well,  before  the  candles  were  lighted,  to  forget  the 
kitchen  and  the  supper  and  her  bustling  aunt,  and  sail  round 
the  world  with  Captain  Cook.  Yes — these  things  were  all  the 
sweeter  for  being  tasted  by  snatches.  • 

Spring  brought  new  occupation ;  household  labors  began 
to  increase  in  number  and  measure  ;  her  leisure  times  were 
shortened.  But  pleasures  w^ere  increased  too.  When  the 
snow  went  off,  and  spring-like  days  began  to  come,  and  birds' 
notes  were  heard  again,  and  the  trees  put  out  their  young 
leaves,  and  the  brown  mountains  were  looking  soft  and  green, 
Ellen's  heart  bounded  at  the  sight.  The  springing  grass  was 
lovely  to  see  ;  dandelions  were  marvels  of  beauty ;  to  her 
each  wild  wood-flower  was  a  never  to  be  enough  admired 
and  loved  wonder.  She  used  to  take  long  rambles  with  Mr. 
Van  Brunt  when  business  led  him  to  the  woods,  sometimes 
riding  part  of  the  way  on  the  ox-sled.  Always  a  basket  for 
flowers  wt.nt  along ;  and  when  the  sled  stopped,  she  would 
wander  all  around  seeking  among  the  piled-up  dead  leaves 
for  the  white  wind-flower,  and  pretty  little  hang- head 
Uvularia,  and  dehcate  blood-root,  and  the  wild  geranium  and 
columbine ;  and  many  others  the  names  of  which  she  did  not 

VOL.  II.  3 


60 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


know.  They  were  like  friends  to  Ellen  ;  she  gathered  them 
affectionately  as  well  as  admiringly  into  her  little  basket,  and 
seemed  to  purify  herself  in  their  pure  companionship.  Even 
Mr.  Van  Brunt  came  to  have  an  indistinct  notion  that  Ellen 
and  flowers  were  made  to  be  together.  After  he  found  what 
a  pleasure  it  was-to  her  to  go  on  these  expeditions,  he  made 
it  a  point,  whenever  he  was  bound  to  the  woods  of  a  fine 
day,  to  come  to  the  house  for  her.  Miss  Fortune  might 
object  as  she  pleased ;  he  always  found  an  answer  ;  and  at 
last  Ellen  to  her  great  joy  would  be  told,  "  Well !  go  get 
your  bonnet  and  be  off  with  yourself."  Once  under  the 
shadow  of  the  big  trees,  the  dried  leaves  crackling  beneath 
her  feet,  and  alone  with  her  kind  conductor, — and  Miss 
Fortune  and  all  in  the  world  that  was  disagreeable  was  for- 
gotten— forgotten  no  more  to  be  remembered  till  the  walk 
should  come  to  an  end.  And  it  would  have  surprised  any- 
body to  hear  the  long  conversations  she  and  Mr.  Van  Brunt 
kept  up, — he,  the  silentest  man  in  Thirl  wall  !  Their  talk 
often  ran  upon  trees,  among  which  Mr,  Van  Brunt  was  at 
home,  Ellen  wanted  to  become  acqujiinted  with  them,  as 
well  as  with  the  little  flowers  that  grew  at  their  feet ;  and 
he  tried  to  teach  her  how  to  know  each  separate  kind  by  the 
bark  and  leaf  and  manner  of  growth.  The  pine  and  hem- 
lock and  fir  were  easily  learnt ;  the  white  birch  too;  beyond 
those  at  first  she  was  perpetually  confounding  one  with  ano- 
ther. Mr.  Van  Brunt  had  to  go  over  and  over  his  instruc- 
tions ;  never  weary,  always  vastly  amused.  Pleasant  lessons 
these  were  !  Ellen  thought  so,  and  Mr.  Van  Brunt  thought 
so  too. 

Then  thei'e  were  walks  with  Alice,  pleasanter  still,  if  that 
could  be.  And  even  in  the  house  Ellen  managed  to  keep  a 
token  of  spring-time.  On  her  toilet-table,  the  three  uncouth 
legs  of  which  were  now  hidden  by  a  neat  dimity  cover,  there 
always  stood  a  broken  tumbler  with  a  supply  of  flowers. 
The  supply  was  very  varied,  it  is  true ;  sometimes  only  a 
handful  of  dandelions,  sometimes  a  huge  bunch  of  lilac  flow- 
ers, which  could  not  be  persuaded  to  stay  in  the  glass  without 
the  help  of  the  wail,  against  which  it  leaned  in  very  undigni- 
fied style  ;  sometimes  the  bouquet  was  of  really  dehcate  and 
beautiful  wild  flowers.  All  were  charming  in  Ellen's  eyes. 
.  As  the  days  grew  long  and  the  weather  warm,  Ahce  and 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


51 


she  began  to  make  frequent  trips  to  the  Cat's  back,  and 
French  eame  very  much  into  fashion.  They  generally  took 
Sharp  to  ease  the  long  way,  and  rested  themselves  with  a 
good  stay  on  the  mountain.  Their  coming  was  always  a  joy 
to  the  old  lady.  She  was  dearly  fond  of  them  both,  and  de- 
lighted to  hear  from  their  lips  the  language  she  loved  best. 
After  a  time  they  spoke  nothing  else  when  with  her.  She 
was  well  qualified  to  teach  them ;  and  indeed  her  general 
education  had  been  far  from  contemptible,  though  nature  had 
done  more  for  her.  As  the  language  grew  familiar  to  them, 
she  loved  to  tell  and  they  to  hear  long  stories  of  her  youth 
and  native  country, — scenes  and  people  so  very  different  from 
all  Ellen  had  ever  seen  or  heard  of ;  and  told  in  a  lively  sim- 
ple style  which  she  could  not  have  given  in  English,  and  with 
a  sweet  coloring  of  Christian  thought  and  feeling.  Many 
things  made  these  visits  good  and  pleasant.  It  was  not  the 
least  of  Alice's  and  Ellen's  joy  to  carry  their  old  friend  some- 
thing that  might  be  for  her  comfort  in  her  lonely  way  of  life. 
For  even  Miss  Fortune  now  and  then  told  Ellen  "she  might 
take  a  piece  of  that  cheese  along  with  her;"  or  "she  won- 
dered if  the  old  lady  would  like  a  little  fresh  meat? — she 
guessed  she'd  cut  her  a  bit  of  that  nice  lamb  ;  she  wouldn't 
want  but  a  little  piece."  A  singluar  testimony  this  was  to 
the  respect  and  esteem  Mrs.  Vawse  had  from  everybody. 
Miss  Fortune  very,  very  seldom  was  known  to  take  a  bit  from 
her  own  comforts  to  add  to  those  of  another.  The  ruling 
passion  of  this  lady  was  thrift ;  her  next,  good  housewifery. 
First,  to  gather  to  herself  and  heap  up  of  what  the  world 
most  esteems ;  after  that,  to  be  known  as  the  most  thorough 
house-keeper  and  the  smartest  woman  in  Thirlwall, 

Ellen  made  other  visits  she  did  not  like  so  well.  In  the 
course  of  the  winter  and  summer  she  became  acquainted  with 
m#st  of  the  neighborhood.  She  sometimes  went  with  her 
aunt  to  a  formal  tea-drinking,  one,  two,  three,  or  four  miles 
off,  as  the  case  might  be.  They  were  not  very  pleasant.  To 
some  places  she  was  asked  by  herself ;  and  though  the  peo- 
ple invariably  showed  themselves  very  kind,  and  did  their  best 
to  please  her,  Ellen  seldom  cared  to  go  a  seco'id  time  ;  liked 
even  home  and  Miss  Fortune  better.  There  were  a  few  ex- 
ceptions ;  Jenny  Hitchcock  was  one  of  her  favorites,  and 
Jane  Huff  was  another ;  and  all  of  their  respective  families 


52 


THE   WIDE,  \\IDE  WORLD. 


came  in,  with  good  reason,  for  a  share  of  her  regard,  Mr. 
Juniper  indeed  excepted.  Once  they  went  to  a  quilting  at 
Squire  Dennison's  ;  the  house  was  spotlessly  neat  and  w^ell 
ordered  ;  the  people  all  kind  ;  but  Ellen  thought  they  did  not 
seem  to  know^  how  to  be  pleasant.  Dan  Dennison  alone  had 
no  stiffness  about  him.  Miss  Fortune  remarked  with  pride 
that  even  in  this  family  of  pretension,  as  she  thought  it,  the 
refreshments  could  bear  no  comparison  with  hers.  Once  they 
were  invited  to  tea  at  the  Lawsons' ;  but  Ellen  told  Alice, 
with  much  apparent  disgust,  that  she  never  wanted  to  go 
again.  Mrs.  Van  Brunt  she  saw  often.  To  Thirlwall  Miss 
Fortune  never  went. 

Twice  in  the  course  of  the  summer  Ellen  had  a  very  great 
pleasure  in  the  company  of  little  Ellen  Chauncey.  Once 
Miss  Sophia  brought  her,  and  once  her  mother ;  and  the  last 
time  tliey  made  a  visit  of  two  weeks.  On  both  occasions 
Ellen  w^as  sent  for  to  the  parsonage  and  kept  while  the}'  stayed  ; 
and  the  pleasure  that  she  and  her  little  friend  had  together 
cannot  be  told.  It  was  unmixed  now.  Rambling  about 
through  the  w^oods  and  over  the  fields,  no  matter  where,  it 
was  all  enchanting ;  helping  Alice  garden ;  helping  Thomas 
make  hay,  and  the  mischief  they  did  his  haycocks  by  tum- 
bling upon  them,  and  the  patience  with  which  he  bore  it ;  the 
looking  for  eggs  ;  the  helping  Margery  churn,  and  the  help- 
ing each  other  set  tables  ;  the  pleasant  mornings  and  pleasant 
evenings  and  pleasant  mid-days, — it  cannot  be  told.  Long 
to  be  remembered,  sweet  and  pure,  was  the  pleasure  of  tliose 
summer  days,  unclouded  by  a  shade  of  discontent  or  disa- 
greement on  either  brow.  Ellen  loved  the  whole  Marshman 
family  now,  for  the  sake  of  one,  the  one  she  had  first  known  ; 
and  little  Ellen  Chauncey  repeatedly  told  her  mother  in  pri- 
vate that  Ellen  Montgomery  was  the  very  nicest  girl  she  had 
ever  seen.  They  met  W'ith  joy  and  parted  with  sorrow,  en- 
treating and  promising,  if  possible,  a  speedy  meeting  again. 

Amidst  all  the  improvement  and  enjoyment  of  these  sum- 
mer months,  and  they  had  a  great  deal  of  both  for  Ellen,  there 
was  one  cause  of  sorrow  she  could  not  help  feeling,  and  it  began 
to  press  more  and  more.  Letters, — they  came  slowly, —  and 
when  they  came  they  were  not  at  all  satisfactory.  Those  in 
her  mother's  hand  dwindled  and  dwindled,  till  at  last  there 
came  only  mere  scraps  of  letters  from  her ;  and  sometimes 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


53 


after  a  long  interval  one  from  Captain  Montgomery  would 
come  alone.  Ellen's  heart  sickened  with  long-deferred  hope. 
She  w^ondered  what  could  make  her  mother  neglect  a  matter 
so  necessary  for  her  happiness ;  sometimes  she  fancied  they 
were  traveling  about,  and  it  might  be  inconvenient  to  wi-ite  ; 
sometimes  she  thought,  perhaps  they  were  coming  home  with- 
out letting  her  know,  and  would  suddenly  surprise  her  some 
day  and  make  her  half  lose  her  wits  with  joy.-  But  they  did  not 
come,  nor  write  ;  and  whatever  was  the  reason,  Ellen  felt  it 
was  very  sad,  and  sadder  and  sadder  as  the  summer  went  on. 
Her  own  letters  became  pitiful  in  their  supplications  for  let- 
ters ;  they  had  been  very  cheerful  and  filled  with  encourag- 
ing matter,  and  in  part  they  were  still. 

For  a  while  her  mind  was  diverted  from  this  sad  subject, 
and  her  brow  cleared  up,  when  John  came  home  in  August. 
As  before,  Alice  gained  Miss  Fortune's  leave  to  keep  her  at 
the  parsonage  the  whole  time  of  his  stay,  which  was  several 
weeks.  Ellen  wondered  that  it  was  so  easily  granted,  but  she 
was  much  too  happy  to  spend  time  in  thinking  about  it.  Miss 
Fortune  had  several  reasons.  She  was  unwilhng  to  displease 
Miss  Humphreys,  and  conscious  that  it  would  be  a  shame  to 
her  to  stand  openly  in  the  wa}^  of  Ellen's  good.  Besides, 
though  Ellen's  services  were  lost  for  a  time,  yet  she  said  she 
got  tired  of  setting  her  to  Avork  ;  she  liked  to  dash  round  the 
house  alone,  without  thinking  what  somebody  else  was  doing 
or  ought  to  be  doing.  In  short  she  liked  to  have  her  out  of 
the  way  for  a  while.  Furthermore,  it  did  not  please  her  that 
Mr.  Van  Brunt  and  her  little  handmaid  were,  as  she  express- 
ed it,  "so  thick."  His  first  thought  and  his  last  thought,  she 
said,  she  believed  were  for  Ellen,  whether  he  came  in  or  went 
out ;  and  Miss  Fortune  was  accustomed  to  be  chief,  not  only 
in  her  own  house,  but  in  the  regards  of  all  who  came  to  it. 
At  any  rate  the  leave  was  granted  and  Ellen  Avent. 

And  now  was  repeated  the  pleasure  of  the  first  week  in  Janu- 
ary. It  would  have  been  increased,  but  that  increase  was  not 
possible.  There  was  only  the  difference  between  lovely  winter 
and  lovely  summer  weather ;  it  was  seldom  very  hot  in  Thirl  wall. 
The  fields  and  hills  were  covered  with  green  instead  of  white; 
fluttering  leaves  had  taken  the  place  of  snow-covered  sprays 
and  sparkling  icicles  ;  and  for  the  keen  north  and  brisk  north- 
wester, soft  summer  airs  were  blowing.    Ellen  saw  no  othej 


64 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


difference, — except  that  perhaps,  if  it  could  be,  there  was 
something  more  of  tenderness  in  the  manner  of  Alice  and  her 
brother  towards  her.  No  little  sister  could  have  been  more 
cherished  and  cared  for.  If  there  was  a  change,  Mr.  Hum- 
phrej^s  shared  it.  It  is  true  he  seldom  took  much  part  in 
the  conversation,  and  seldomer  was  with  them  in  an}'  of  their 
pursuits  or  pleasures.  He  generally  kept  by  himself  in  his 
study.  But  whenever  he  did  speak  to  Ellen  his  tone  was 
particularly  gentle  and  his  look  kind.  He  sometimes  called 
her  "  My  little  daughter,"  which  always  gave  Ellen  great 
pleasure  ;  she  would  jump  at  such  times  with  double  zeal  to 
do  anything  he  asked  her. 

Now  draw'iig  went  on  with  new  vigor  under  the  eye  of  her 
master.  A  ■  many  things  beside.  John  took  a  great  deal 
of  pains  wili,  her  in  various  ways.  He  made  her  read  to  him  ; 
he  helped  her  and  Alice  with  their  French ;  he  went  with 
them  to  Mrs.  Vawse's  ;  and  even  Mr.  Humphreys  went  there 
too  one  afternoon  to  tea.  How  much  Ellen  enjoyed  that 
afternoon !  They  took  with  them  a  great  basket  of  provi- 
sions, for  Mrs.  Vawse  could  not  be  expected  to  entertain  so. 
large  a  party  ;  and  boiTOwed  Jenny  Hitchcock's  pon}^  which 
with  old  John  and  Sharp  mounted  three  of  the  company ; 
they  took  turns  in  walking.  Nobody  minded  that.  The  fine 
weather,  the  beautiful  mountain-top,  the  general  pleasure, 
Mr.  Humphreys'  uncommon  spirits  and  talkableness,  the 
oddity  of  their  way  of  traveling,  and  of  a  tea-party  up  on  the 
"  Cat's  back,"  and  furthermore,  the  fact  that  Nancy  stayed  at 
home  and  behaved  very  well  the  whole  time,  all  together  filled 
Ellen's  cup  of  happiness,  for  the  time,  as  full  as  it  could 
hold.  She  never  foigot  tliat  afternoon.  And  the  ride  home 
was  the  best  of  all.  I'he  sun  was  low  by  the  time  they 
reached  the  plain  ;  long  shadow^s  lay  across  their  road  ;  the 
soft  air  just  stirred  the  leaves  on  the  branches  ;  stillness  and 
loveliness  were  over  all  things  ;  and  down  the  mountain  and 
along  the  roads  through  the  open  country,  the  whole  wa}'-, 
John  w^alked  at  her  bridle  ;  so  kind  in  his  care  of  her,  so 
pleasant  in  his  talk  to  her,  teaching  her  how  to  sit  in  the  sad- 
dle and  hold  the  reins  and  whip,  and  much  more  important 
things  too,  that  Ellen  thought  a  pleasanter  thing  could  not 
be  than  to  ride  so.  After  that  they  took  a  great  many  rides, 
borrowing  Jenny's  pony  or  some  other,  and  explored  the 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


55 


beautiful  country  far  and  near.  And  almost  daily  John  had 
up  Sharp  and  gave  Ellen  a  regular  lesson.  She  often  thought, 
and  sometimes  looked,  what  she  had  once  said  to  him,  *'  I 
wish  I  could  do  something  for  you,  Mr.  John  ;" — but  he  smiled 
at  her  and  said  nothing. 

At  last  he  was  gone.  And  in  all  the  weeks  he  had  been 
at  home,  and  in  many  weeks  before,  no  letter  had  come  for 
Ellen.  The  thought  had  been  kept  from  weighing  upon  her 
by  the  thousand  pleasures  that  filled  up  every  moment  of  his 
stay  ;  she  could  not  be  sad  then,  or  only  for  a  minute  ;  hope 
threw  off  the  sorrow  as  soon  as  it  was  felt ;  and  slie  forgot 
how  time  flew.  But  when  his  visit  was  over,  and  she  went 
back  to  her  old  place  and  her  old  life  at  her  aunt's,  the  old 
feeling  came  back  in  greater  strength.  She  began  again  to 
count  the  days  and  the  weeks  ;  to  feel  the  bitter  unsatisfied 
longing.  Tears  would  drop  down  upon  her  Bible  ;  tears 
streamed  from  her  eyes  when  she  prayed  that  God  would  make 
her  mother  well  and  bring  her  home  to  her  quickly, — oh 
quickly ! — and  little  Ellen's  face  began  to  wear  once  more 
something  of  its  old  look. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 


All  was  ended  now,  the  hope,  and  the  fear,  and  the  sorrow. 
All  the  aching  of  heart,  the  restless,  unsatisfied  longing. 
All  the  dull  deep  pain,  and  constant  angnish  of  patience  ! 

Longfellow. 


One  day  in  the  early  part  of  September,  she  was  standing 
in  front  of  the  house  at  the  little  wicket  that  opened  on  the 
road.  With  her  back  against  the  open  gate  she  was  gently 
moving  it  to  and  fro,  half  enjoying  the  weather  and  the  scene, 
half  indulging  the  melancholy  mood  which  drove  her  from 
the  presence  of  her  bustling  aunt.  The  gurgling  sound  of  the 
brook  a  few  steps  off  was  a  great  deal  more  soothing  to  her 
ear  than  Miss  Fortune's  sharp  tones.  By  and  by  a  horseman 
came  in  sight  at  the  far  end  of  the  road,  and  the  brook  was 
forgotten.  What  made  Ellen  look  at  him  so  sharply  ?  Poor 
child,  she  was  always  expecting  news.  At  first  she  could 
only  see  that  the  man  rode  a  white  horse ;  then,  as  he  came 
nearer,  an  odd  looped-up  hat  showed  itself, — and  something 
queer  in  his  hand, — what  was  it  ?  who  is  it  ? — The  old  news- 
man !  Ellen  Avas  sure.  Yes — she  could  now  see  his  saddle- 
bags, and  the  white  horse-tail  set  in  a  handle  with  which  he 
was  brushing  away  the  flies  from  his  horse  ;  the  tin  trumpet 
was  in  his  other  hand,  to  blow  withal.  He  was  a  venerable 
old  figure,  with  all  his  oddities  ;  clad  in  a  suit  of  snuff  brown, 
with  a  neat  quiet  look  about  him,  he  and  the  saddlebags  and 
the  white  horse  jogged  on  together  as  if  they  belonged  to 
nothing  else  in  the  world  but  eacli  other.  In  an  ecstasy  of 
fear  and  hope  Ellen  watched  the  pace  of  the  old  hoi  se  to  see  if 
it  gave  any  sign  of  slackening  near  the  gate.  Her  breath 
came  short,  she  hardlv  breatlied  at  all,  she  was  trembling: 
from  head  to  foot.  Would  he  stop,  or  Avas  he  going  on ! 
Oh  the  long  agony  of  two  minutes  ! — He  stopped.  Ellen 
went  towards  him. 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


57 


"  What  little  gal  is  this  ?"  said  he. 

*'  I  am  Ellen  Montgomery,  sir,"  said  Ellen  eagerly ; — "  Misa 
Fortune's  niece — I  live  here." 

Stop  a  bit,"  said  the  old  man,  taking  up  his  saddlebags, — 
"  Miss  Fortune's  niece,  eh  ?  Well — I  believe — as  I've  got 
somethin'  for  her — somethin'  here — aunt  well,  eh  ?" 

"  Yes  sir." 

"  That's  more  than  you  be,  aint  it  ?"  said  he,  glancing 
sideways  at  Ellen's  face.  How  do  you  know  but  I've  got  a 
letter  for  you  here,  eh  ?" 

The  color  rushed  to  that  face,  and  she  clasped  her  hands. 

"  No,  dear,  no,"  said  he, — '*  I  ha'n't  got  Hny  for  you — it's 
for  the  old  lady — there,  run  in  with  it,  dear." 

But  Ellen  knew  before  she  touched  it  that  it  was  a  foreign 
letter,  and  dashed  into  the  house  with  it.  Miss  Fortune 
coolly  sent  her  back  to  pay  the  postage. 

"  When  she  came  in  again  her  aunt  was  still  reading  the 
letter.  But  her  look,  Ellen  felt,  was  unpromising.  She  did 
not  venture  to  speak ;  expectation  was  chilled.  She  stood 
till  Miss  Fortune  began  to  fold  up  the  paper. 

"  Is  there  nothing  for  me  ?"  she  said  then  timidly. 

-No." 

"  0  why  don't  she  write  to  me  !"  cried  Ellen,  bursting  into 
tears. 

Miss  Fortune  stalked  about  the  room  without  any  particu- 
lar purpose,  as  far  as  could  be  seen. 

"  It  is  very  strange  !"  said  Ellen  sorrowfully, — "  I  am 
afraid  she  is  worse — does  papa  say  she  is  worse  ?" 

-No." 

-  0  if  she  had  only  sent  me  a  message  !  I  should  think 
she  might ;  0  I  wish  she  had  ! — three  words  ! — does  papa 
say  why  she  don't  write?" 

-  No." 

-  It  is  very  strange  !"  repeated  poor  Ellen. 

"  Your  father  talks  of  coming  home,"  said  Miss  Fortune, 
after  a  few  minutes,  during  which  Ellen  had  been  silently 
weeping. 

"  Home  ! — Then  she  must  be  better  !"  said  Ellen  with  new 
lifd  ;  "does  papa  say  she  is  better?" 
"  No." 

"  But  what  does  he  mean  ?"  said  Ellen  uneasily ; — "  I  don't 
3* 


58 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


see  what  he  means  ;  he  doesn't  say  she  is  worse,  and  he 
doesn't  say  she  is  better, — what  does  he  say  ?" 

"  He  don't  say  much  about  anything." 
Does  he  say  when  they  are  coming  home  ?" 

Miss  Fortune  mumbled  something  about  "  Spring,"  and 
whisked  oft"  to  the  buttery  ;  Ellen  thought  no  more  was  to 
be  got  out  of  her.  She  felt  miserable.  Her  father  and  her 
aunt  both  seemed  to  act  sti  angely ;  and  where  to  find  com- 
fort she  scarcely  knew.  She  had  one  day  been  telling  her 
doubts  and  sorrows  to  John.  He  did  not  try  to  raise  her 
hopes,  but  said,  "  Troubles  will  come  in  this  woi-ld,  Ellie  ;  the 
best  is  to  trust  them  and  ourselves  to  our  dear  Saviour,  and 
let  trials  drive  us  to  him.  Seek  to  love  him  more  and  to  be 
patient  under  his  will ;  the  good  Shepherd  means  nothing  but 
kindness  to  any  lamb  in  his  flock, — you  may  be  sure  of  that, 
Ellie." 

Ellen  remembered  his  words  and  tried  to  follow  them  now, 
but  she  could  not  be  "  patient  under  his  will  "  yet, — not 
quite.  It  was  very  hard  to  be  patient  in  such  uncertainty. 
With  swimming  eyes  she  turned  over  her  Bible  in  search  of 
comfort,  and  found  it.  Her  eye  lit  upon  words  she  knew 
very  well,  but  that  were  like  the  fresh  sight  of  a  friend's  face 
for  all  that, — "  Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled  ;  ye  believe  in 
God,  believe  also  in  me.  In  my  Father's  house  are  many 
mansions."  There  is  no  parting  there,  thought  little  Ellen. 
She  cried  a  long  time  ;  but  she  was  comforted  nevertheless. 
The  heart  that  rests  on  the  blessed  One  who  said  those  words 
can  never  be  quite  desolate. 

For  several  days  things  went  on  in  the  old  train,  only  her 
aunt,  she  thought,  was  sometimes  rather  queer, — not  quite  as 
usual  in  her  manner  towards  her.  Wr.  Van  Brunt  was  not 
rather  but  veri/  queer ;  he  scarce  spoke  or  looked  at  Ellen ; 
bolted  down  his  food  and  was  off  without  a  word  ;  and  ev^en 
stayed  away  entirely  from  two  or  three  meals.  She  saw  no- 
body else.  Weather  and  other  circumstances  prevented  her 
going  to  the  mountain. 

One  afternoon  she  was  giving  her  best  attention  to  a 
French  lesson,  when  she  heard  herself  called.  Miss  For- 
tune was  in  the  lower  kitchen  dipping  candles.  Ellen  ran 
down. 

**  I  don't  know  what's  got  into  these  candles,"  said  Miss 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


59 


Fortune, — "  I  can't  make  'em  hang  together  ;  the  tallow  aint 
good,  1  guess.    Where's  the  nearest  place  they  keep  bees  ?" 

"  They  have  got  bees  at  Mrs.  Hitchcock's,"  said  Ellen. 

**  So  they  have  in  Egypt,  for  anything  I  know,"  said  her 
aunt ; — "  one  would  be  about  as  much  good  now  as  t'other. 
Mrs.  Lowndes  ! — that  aint  far  off.  Put  on  your  bonnet, 
El!en,  and  run  over  there,  and  ask  her  to  let  me  have  a  httle 
bees-wax.   I'll  pay  her  in  something  she  hkes  best." 

**  Does  Mrs.  Lowndes  keep  bee-hives  ?"  said  Ellen  doubt- 
fully. 

"  No — she  makes  the  bees- wax  herself,"  said  Miss  Fortune, 
in  the  tone  she  always  took  when  anybody  presumed  to  sup- 
pose she  might  be  mistaken  in  anything. 

"  How  much  shall  1  ask  her  for  ?"  said  Ellen. 
O  1  don't  know — a  pretty  good  piece." 

Ellen  was  not  very  clear  what  quantity  this  might  mean. 
However  she  wisely  asked  no  more  questions,  and  set  out 
upon  her  walk.  It  was  hot  and  disagreeable  ;  just  the  time 
of  day  when  the  sun  had  most  power,  and  Mrs.  Lowndes' 
house  was  about  half  way  on  the  road  to  Alice's.  It  was  not 
a  place  where  Ellen  liked  to  go,  though  the  people  always 
made  much  of  her ;  she  did  not  fancy  them,  and  regularly 
kept  out  of  their  way  when  she  could.  Miss  Mary  Lawson 
was  sitting  with  Mrs.  Lowndes  and  her  daughter  when  Ellen 
came  in  and  briefly  gave  her  aunt's  message. 

"  Bees-wax,"  said  Mrs,  Lowndes, — "  well,  I  don't  know — 
How  much  does  she  want  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  ma'am,  exactly  ;  she  said  a  pretty  good 
piece." 

"  What's  it  for  ?  do  you  know,  honey  ?" 

"  I  believe  it's  to  put  in  some  tallow  for  candles,"  said 
Ellen  ; — "  the  tallow  was  too  soft  she  said." 

"  I  didn't  know  ^liss  Fortune's  tallow  was  ever  anything 
but  the  hardest,"  said  Sarah  Lowndes. 

"  You  had  better  not  let  your  aunt  know  you've  told  on 
her,  Ellen,"  remarked  Mary  Lawson  ;  "  she  won't  thank  you." 

"Had  she  a  good  lot  of  taller  to  make  up ?"  inquired  the 
mother,  preparing  to  cut  her  bees-wax. 

"  I  don't  know  ma'am ;  she  had  a  big  kettle,  but  I  don't 
know  how  full  it  was." 

You  may  as  well  send  a  good  piece,  ma,  while  you  are 


60 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


about  it,"  said  the  daughter ; — "  and  ask  her  to  let  us 
have  a  piece  of  her  sage  cheese,  will  you  ?" 

"  Is  it  worth  while  to  weigh  it  ?"  whispered  Mrs.  Lowndes. 

Her  daughter  answered  in  the  same  tone,  and  Miss  Mary 
joining  them,  a  conversation  of  some  length  went  on  over  the 
bees-wax  which  Ellen  could  not  hear.  The  tones  of  the 
speakers  became  lower  and  lower ;  till  at  lengtli  her  own 
name  and  an  incautious  sentence  were  spoken  more  distinctly 
and  reached  her. 

"  Shouldn't  you  think  Miss  Fortune  might  put  a  black  rib- 
band at  least  on  her  bonnet  ?" 
Anybody  but  her  would." 

*'  Hush  !  "    They  whispered  again  under  breath. 

The  words  entered  Ellen's  heart  like  cold  iron.  She  did 
not  move,  hand  or  foot ;  she  sat  motionless  w^th  pain  and 
fear,  yet  what  she  feared  she  dared  not  think.  When  the 
bees-wax  was  given  her  she  rose  up  from  her  chair  and  stood 
gazing  into  Mrs.  Lowndes'  face  as  if  she  had  lost  her  senses. 

"My  goodness,  child,  how  you  look!"  said  tliat  lady. 
"What  ails  you,  honey  ?" 

Ma'am,"  said  Ellen, — "  what  was  that  you  said,  about  — " 

"  About  what,  dear  ?"  said  Mrs.  Lowndes,  with  a  startled 
look  at  the  others. 

About — a  riband — "  said  Ellen,  struggling  to  get  the 
words  out  of  white  lips. 

''My  goodness!"  said  the  other; — "did  you  ever  hear 
anything  like  that? — I  didn't  say  nothing  about  a  riband, 
dear." 

"Do  you  suppose  her  aunt  ha'n't  told  her?"  said  Miss 
Mary  in  an  under  tone. 

"  Told  me  what  ?"  cried  Ellen  ;— "  Oh  what  ?— what  ?" 

"I  wish  I  was  a  thousand  miles  off!"  said  Mrs.  Lowndes  ; 
— "  I  don't  know,  dear — I  don't  know  what  it  is — Miss  Alice 
knows." 

"  Yes,  ask  Miss  Ahce,"  said  Mary  Lawson ; — "  she  knows 
better  than  we  do," 

Ellen  looked  doubtfully  from  one  to  the  other ;  then  as 
"  Go  ask  Miss  Alice,"  was  repeated  on  all  sides,  she  caught 
up  her  bonnet  and  flinging  the  bees-wax  from  her  hand  dart- 
ed out  of  the  house.  Those  she  had  left  looked  at  each  other 
a  minute  in  silence. 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


61 


"  Aint  that  too  bad  now  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Lowndes,  cross- 
ing the  room  to  shut  the  door.    But  what  could  I  say  ?" 
"  Which  way  did  she  go  ?" 

**  I  don't  know  1  am  sure — I  had  no  head  to  look,  or  any- 
thing else,  I  wonder  if  I  had  ought  to  ha'  told  her. — But  I 
couldn't  ha'  done  it." 

"Just  look  at  her  bees- wax  !"  said  Sarah  Lowndes. 

"  She  will  kill  herself  if  she  runs  up  the  mountain  at  that 
rate,"  said  Mary  Lawson. 

They  all  made  a  rush  to  the  door  to  look  after  her. 

"  She  aint  in  sight,"  said  Mrs.  Lowndes  ; — "  if  she's  gone 
the  way  to  the  Nose  she's  got  as  far  as  them  big  poplars 
already,  or  she'd  be  somewhere  this  side  of  'em  where  we 
could  see  her." 

"  You  hadn't  ought  to  ha'  let  her  go,  'ma,  in  all  this  sun," 
said  Miss  Lowndes. 

"  I  declare,"  said  Mrs.  Lowndes,  she  scared  me  so  I 
hadn't  three  idees  left  in  my  head.  I  wish  I  knew  where  she 
was,  though,  poor  little  soul !" 

Ellen  was  far  on  her  way  to  the  mountain,  pressed  forward 
by  a  fear  that  knew  no  stay  of  heat  or  fatigue  ;  they  wei-e 
little  to  her  that  day.  She  saw  nothing  on  her  way  ;  all 
within  and  without  was  swallowed  up  in  that  one  feeling ;  yet 
she  dared  not  think  what  it  was  she  feared.  She  put  that 
by.  Ahce  knew,  AYicq  would  tell  ;  on  that  goal  her 
heart  fixed,  to  that  she  pressed  oiS^i  but  oh,  the  while, 
what  a  cloud  was  gathering  over  her  spirit,  and  growing- 
darker  and  darker.  Her  hurry  of  mind  and  hurry  of  body 
made  each  other  worse  ;  it  must  be  so;  and  when  she  at  last 
ran  round  the  corner  of  the  house  and  burst  in  at  the  glass 
door  she  was  in  a  frightful  state. 

Alice  started  up  and  faced  her  as  she  came  in,  but  with  a 
look  that  stopped  Ellen  short.  She  stood  still ;  the  color  in 
her  cheeks,  as  her  eyes  read  Alice's,  faded  quite  away  ;  words 
and  the  power  to  speak  them  were  gone  together.  Alas ! 
the  need  to  utter  them  was  gone  too.  Alice  burst  into  teai  s 
and  held  out  her  arms,  saying  only,  "  My  poor  child  !"  Ellen 
reached  her  arms,  and  strength  and  spirit  seemed  to  fail 
there.  Alice  thought  she  had  fainted  ;  she  laid  her  on  the 
sofa,  called  Margery,  and  tried  the  usual  things,  weeping  bit- 
terly herself  as  she  did  so.    It  was  not  fainting  however ; 


62 


TIIK   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


Ellen's  senses  soon  came  back  ;  but  she  seemed  like  a  person 
stunned  with  a  great  blow,  and  Alice  wished  grief  had  had 
any  other  effect  upon  her.  It  lasted  for  days.  A  kind  of 
stupor  hung  over  her;  tears  did  not  come  ;  the  violent  stiain 
of  every  nerve  and  feeling  seemed  to  have  left  her  benumbed. 
She  would  sleep  long  heavy  sleeps  the  greater  part  of  the 
time,  and  seemed  to  have  no  power  to  do  anything  else. 

Her  adopted  sister  watched  her  constantly,  and  for  those 
days  lived  but  to  watch  her.  She  had  heard  all  Ellen's  story 
from  Mary  Lawson  and  Mr.  Van  Brunt;  who  had  both  been 
to  the  parsonage,  one  on  Mrs.  Lowndes'  part,  the  other  on 
his  own,  to  ask  about  her  ;  and  she  dreaded  that  a  violent  fit 
of  illness  might  be  brought  on  by  all  Ellen  had  undergone. 
She  was  mistaken,  however.  Ellen  was  not  ill ;  but  her 
whole  mind  and  body  bowed  under  the  weight  of  the  blow 
that  had  come  upon  her.  A.s  the  first  stupor  wore  oflF  there 
were  indeed  more  lively  signs  of  grief ;  she  would  weep  till 
she  wept  her  eyes  out,  and  that  often,  but  it  was  very  quiet- 
ly ;  no  passionate  sobbing,  no  noisy  crying  ;  sorrow  had  taken 
too  strong^  hold  to  be  struooled  with,  and  Ellen  meekly  bowed 
her  head  to  it.  Alice  saw  this  with  the  greatest  alarm.  She 
had  refused  to  let  her  go  back  to  her  aunt's  ;  it  Avas  impossi- 
ble to  do  otherwise ;  yet  it  may  be  that  Ellen  would  have 
been  better  there.  The  busy  industry  to  which  she  would 
have  been  forced  at  home  might  have  roused  her  ;  as  it  Avas, 
nothing  drew  her,  and  nothing  could  be  found  to  draw  her, 
from  her  own  thoughts.  Her  interest  in  everything  seemed 
to  be  gone.  Books  had  lo^t  their  charm.  Walks  and  drives 
and  staying  at  home  Averc  all  one,  except  indeed  that  she  l  ather 
liked  best  the  latter.  Appetite  failed  ;  her  cheek  grcAv  colorless  ; 
and  Alice  began  to  fear  that  if  a  stop  were  not  soon  put  to 
this  madual  sinkinjr  it  Avould  at  last  end  Avith  her  life.  But 
all  her  eflbrts  Avei  e  Avithout  fruit ;  and  the  Avinter  was  a  sor- 
roAvful  one  not  to  Ellen  alone. 

As  it  Avore  on,  there  came  to  be  one  thing  in  Avhicli  Ellen 
again  took  pleasute,  and  that  Avas  her  Bible.  She  used  to 
get  alone  or  into  a  corner  with  it,  and  turn  the  leaves  over 
and  over  ;  looking  out  its  gentle  promises  and  SAveet  comfort- 
ing Avords  to  the  Aveak  and  the  sorroAving.  She  loved  to  read 
about  Christ, — all  he  said  and  did  ;  all  his  kindness  to  his 
people  and  tender  care  of  them  ;  the  love  shoAvn  them  here 


THE  WIDE,  W.DE  WORLD.  63 


and  the  joys  prepared  for  them  hereafter.  She  began  to 
ding  more  to  that  one  unchangeable- friend  from  whose  love 
neither  hfe  nor  death  can  sever  those  that  believe  in  him  ;  and 
her  heart,  tossed  and  shaken  as  it  had  been,  began  to  take 
rest  again  in  that  happy  resting-place  with  stronger  affection 
and  even  with  greater  joy  than  ever  before.  Yet  for  all  that, 
this  joy  often  kept  company  with  bitter  weeping  ;  the  stirring 
of  anything  like  pleasure  roused  sorrow  up  afresh ;  and 
though  Ellen's  look  of  sadness  grew  less  dark,  Alice  could 
not  see  that  her  face  was  at  all  less  white  and  thin.  She 
never  spoke  of  her  mother,  after  once  hearing  when  and  where 
she  had  died  ;  she  never  hinted  at  her  loss,  except  exclaim- 
ing in  an  agony,  "  I  shall  get  no  more  letters !"  and  Alice 
dared  not  touch  upon  what  the  child  seemed  to  avoid  so  care- 
fully ;  though  Ellen  sometimes  wept  on  her  bosom,  and  often 
sat  for  hours  still  and  silent  with  her  head  in  her  lap. 

The  time  drew  nigh  when  John  was  expected  home  for  the 
holidays.  In  the  mean  while  they  had  had  many  visits  from 
other  friends.  Mr.  Van  Brunt  had  come  several  times,  enough 
to  set  the  whole  neigliborhood  a  wondering  if  they  had  only 
known  it ;  his  good  old  mother  oftener  still.  Mrs.  Vawse  as 
often  as  possible.  Miss  Fortune  once  ;  and  that  because,  as 
she  said  to  herself,  "  ever\  body  would  be  talking  about  what 
was  none  of  their  business  if  she  didn't.'  As  neither  she  nor 
Ellen  knew  in  the  least  what  to  say  to  each  other,  the  visit 
was  rather  a  dull  one,  spite  of  all  Alice  could  do.  Jenny 
Hitchcock  and  the  Huff's  and  the  Dennisons,  and  others,  came 
now  and  then ;  but  Ellen  did  not  like  to  see  any  of  them  all 
but  Mrs.  Vawse.    Alice  longed  for  her  brother. 

He  came  at  last,  just  before  New  Year's.  It  was  the  mid- 
dle of  a  fine  afternoon,  and  Alice  and  her  father  had  gone  in 
the  sleigh  to  Carra-carra.  Ellen  had  chosen  to  stay  behind, 
but  Margery  did  not  know  this,  and  of  course  did  not  tell 
John.  After  paying  a  visit  to  her  in  the  kitchen  he  had 
come  back  to  the  empty  sitting-room,  and  was  thoughtfully 
walking  up  and  down  the  floor,  when  the  door  of  Alice's 
room  slowly  opened  and  Ellen  appeared.  It  was  never  her 
way,  when  she  could  help  it,  to  show  violent  feeling  before 
ether  people  ;  so  she  had  been  trying  to  steel  herself  to  meet 
John  without  crying,  and  now  came  in  with  her  little  grave 


64 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


face  prepared  not  to  give  way.  His  first  look  had  like  to 
overset  it  all. 

"  Ellie  !"  said  he  ; — I  thought  everybody  was  gone.  My 
dear  Ellie ! 

Ellen  could  hardly  stand  the  tone  of  these  three  words,  and 
she  bore  with  the  greatest  difficulty  the  kiss  that  followed 
them ;  it  took  but  a  word  or  two  more,  and  a  glance  at  tlie 
old  look  and  smile,  to  break  down  entirely  all  her  guard. 
According  to  her  usual  fashion  she  was  rushing  away  ;  but 
John  held  her  fast,  and  though  gently  drew  her  close  to  him. 

"  I  will  not  let  you  forget  that  I  am  your  brother,  Ellie," 
said  he. 

Ellen  hid  her  face  on  his  shoulder  and  cried  as  if  she  had 
never  cried  before. 

"  Ellie,"  said  he  after  a  while,  speaking  low  and  tenderly, 
*'  the  Bible  says,  *  We  have  known  and  believed  the  love  that 
God  hath  toward  us — have  you  remembered  and  believed 
this  lately  ?" 

Ellen  did  not  answer. 

"  Have  you  remembered  that  God  loves  every  sinner  that 
has  believed  in  his  dear  Son  ? — and  loves  them  so  well  that 
he  will  let  nothing  come  near  them  to  harm  them  ? — and 
loves  them  never  better  than  when  he  sends  bitter  trouble  on 
them  ?  It  is  wonderful !  but  it  is  true.  Have  you  thought 
of  this,  Ellie  ?" 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  It  is  not  in  anger  he  does  it ; — it  is  not  that  he  has  for- 
gotten you  ; — it  is  not  that  he  is  careless  of  your  trembling 
little  heart, — never,  never !  If  you  are  his  child,  all  is  done 
in  love  and  shall  work  good  for  you  ;  and  if  we  often  cannot 
see  how,  it  is  because  we  are  weak  and  foolish,  and  can  see 
but  a  very  little  way." 

Ellen  listened,  with  her  face  hid  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Do  you  love  Christ,  Ellen  ?" 

She  nodded,  weeping  afresh. 

**  Do  you  love  him  less  since  he  has  brought  you  into  this 
great  sorrow  ?" 

"  No,"  sobbed  Ellen  ; — "  more.'" 

He  drew  her  closer  to  his  breast,  and  was  silent  a  little 
while. 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


65 


"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  you  say  that ! — then  all  wili  be 
well.  And  haven't  you  the  best  reason  to  think  that  all  is 
well  with  your  dear  mother  ?" 

Ellen  almost  shrieked.  Her  mother's  name  had  not  been 
spoken  before  her  in  a  great  while,  and  she  could  hardly 
bear  to  hear  it  now.  Her  whole  frame  quivered  with  hys- 
terical sobs. 

Hush,  Ellie !"  said  John,  in  a  tone  that,  low  as  it  was, 
somehow  found  its  way  through  all  her  agitation,  and  calmed 
her  like  a  spell ; — "  have  you  not  good  reason  to  beheve  that 
all  is  well  with  her  ?" 

"  0  yes  ! — oh  yes  !" 
She  loved  and  trusted  him  too  ;  and  now  she  is  with  him — - 
she  has  reached  that  bright  home  where  there  is  no  more  sin, 
nor  sorrow,  nor  death." 

"  Nor  parting  either,"  sobbed  Ellen,  whose  agitation  was 
excessive. 

"  ISTor  parting  ! — and  though  we  are  parted  from  them,  it 
is  but  for  a  little  ;  let  us  watch  and  keep  our  garments  clean, 
and  soon  we  shall  be  all  together,  and  have  done  with  tears 
for  ever.  She  has  done  with  them  now. — Did  you  hear  from 
her  again  ?" 

Oh  no  ! — not  a  word  !" 

"  That  is  a  hard  trial. — But  in  it  all,  believe,  dear  'EUie, 
the  love  that  God  hath  toward  us  ; — remember  that  our  dear 
Saviour  is  near  us,  and  feels  for  us,  and  is  the  same  at  all 
times. — And  don't  cry  so,  Ellie." 

He  kissed  her  once  or  twice,  and  begged  her  to  calm  her- 
self. For  it  seemed  as  if  Ellen's  very  heart  was  flowing  away 
in  her  tears ;  yet  they  were  gentler  and  softer  far  than  at  the 
beginning.  The  conversation  had  been  a  great  relief.  The 
silence  between  her  and  Alice  on  the  thing  always  in  her 
mind,  a  silence  neither  of  them  dared  to  break,  had  grown 
painful.  The  spell  was  taken  off ;  and  though  at  first  Ellen's 
tears  knew  no  measure,  she  was  easier  even  then  ;  as  John 
soothed  her  and  went  on  with  his  kind  talk,  gradually  leading 
it  away  from  their  first  subject  to  other  things,  she  grew 
not  only  calm  but  more  peaceful  at  heart  than  months  had 
Been  hei'.  She  was  quite  herself  again  before  Alice  came  home. 
You  have  done  her  good  already,"  exclaimed  Alice,  as 


66 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


soon  as  Ellen  was  out  of  the  room  ; — "  I  knew  you  would  ;  I 
saw  it  in  her  face  as  soon  as  I  came  in." 

"  It  is  time,"  said  her  brother.    "  She  is  a  dear  little  thing !" 

The  next  day,  in  the  middle  of  the  morning,  Ellen,  to  her 
great  surprise,  saw  Sharp  brought  before  the  door  with  the 
side-saddle  on,  and  Mr.  John  carefully  looking  to  the  girtli 
and  shortening  the  stirrup. 

"  Why  Alice,"  she  exclaimed, — ''what  is  Mr.  John  going 
to  do?"' 

"  I  don't  know,  Ellie,  I  am  sure  ;  he  does  queer  things 
sometimes.    What  makes  you  ask  ?" 

Before  she  could  answer  he  opened  the  door. 

"  Come  Ellen — go  and  get  ready.  Bundle  up  well,  for  it 
is  rather  frosty.  Alice,  has  she  a  pair  of  gloves  that  are 
warm  enough  ?  Lend  her  yours,  and  I'll  see  if  I  can  find 
some  at  Thirlwall." 

Ellen  thought  she  would  rather  not  go ;  to  anybody  else 
she  would  have  said  so.  Half  a  minute  she  stood  still — then 
went  to  put  on  her  things. 

"  Alice,  you  will  be  ready  by  the  time  we  get  back  ? — in 
half  an  hour." 

Ellen  had  an  excellent  lesson,  and  her  master  took  care 
it  should  not  be  an  easy  one.  She  came  back  looking  as  she 
had  not  done  all  winter.  Alice  was  not  quite  ready  ;  while 
waiting  for  her  John  went  to  tlie  bookcase  and  took  down 
the  first  volume  of  "  Rollin's  Ancient  History  ;"  and  giving  it 
to  Ellen,  said  he  would  talk  with  her  to-morrow  about  the  first 
twenty  pages.  The  consequence  was,  the  hour  and  a  half  of 
their  absence  instead  of  being  moped  away  was  spent  in  hard 
study.  A  pair  of  gloves  was  bought  at  Thirlwall ;  Jenny 
Hitchcock's  pony  was  sent  for ;  and  after  that,  every  day 
when  the  weather  would  at  all  do  they  took  a  long  ride. 
By  degrees  reading  and  drawing  and  all  her  studies  were 
added  to  the  history,  till  Ellen's  time  was  well  filled  with 
business  again,  Alice  had  endeavored  to  bring  this  about 
before,  but  fruitlessly.  What  she  asked  of  her  Ellen  indeed 
tried  to  do  ;  what  John  told  her  ivas  done.  She  grew  a 
different  creature.  Appetite  came  back  ;  the  color  sprang 
again  to  her  cheek  ;  hope, — meek  and  sober  as  it  was, — 
relighted  her  eye.    In  her  eagerness  to  please  and  satisfy 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


67 


her  teacher  her  whole  soul  was  given  to  the  performance  of 
whatever  he  wished  her  to  do.  The  effect  was  all  that  he 
looked  for. 

The  second  evening  after  he  came  John  called  Ellen  to  his 
side,  saying  he  had  something  he  wanted  to  read  to  her.  It 
was  before  candles  were  brought,  but  the  room  was  full  of 
light  from  the  blazing  wood  fire.  Ellen  glanced  at  his  book 
as  she  came  to  the  sofa  ;  i»  was  a  largish  volume  in  a  black 
leather  cover  a  good  deal  worn ;  it  did  not  look  at  all  in- 
teresting. 

"  What  is  it  ?"  she  asked. 
It  is  called,"  said  John,  "  '  The  Pilgrim's  Progress  from 
this  world  to^a  better.'  " 

Ellen  thouo;ht  it  did  not  sound  at  all  interesting-.  She  had 
never  been  more  mistaken  in  her  life,  and  that  she  found 
almost  as  soon  as  he  begun.  Her  attention  was  nailed  ;  the 
listless  careless  mood  in  which  she  sat  down  was  changed  for 
one  of  rapt  delight ;  she  devoured  every  word  that  fell  from 
the  reader's  lips ;  indeed  they  were  given  their  fullest  effect 
by  a  very  fine  voice  and  singularly  fine  reading.  Whenever 
anything  might  not  be  quite  clear  to  Ellen,  John  stopped  to 
make  it  so  ;  and  with  his  help,  and  without  it,  many  a  lesson 
went  home.  Next  day  she  looked  a  long  time  for  the  book  ; 
it  could  not  be  found  ;  she  was  forced  to  wait  until  evening. 
Then  to  her  great  joy,  it  was  brought  out  again,  and  John 
asked  if  she  wished  to  hear  some  more  of  it.  After  that,  every 
evening  while  he  was  at  home  they  spent  an  hour  with  the 

Pilgrim."  Alice  would  leave  her  work  and  come  to  the 
sofa  too  ;  and  with  her  head  on  her  brother's  shoulder,  her 
hand  in  his,  and  Ellen's  face  leanino-  against  his  other  arm, 
_  that  was  the  common  way  they  placed  themselves  to  read  and 
hear.  No  words  can  tell  Ellen's  enjoyment  of  those  read- 
ings. They  made  her  sometimes  laugh  and  sometimes  cry  ; 
they  had  much  to  do  in  carrying  on  the  cure  which  John's 
wisdom  and  kindness  had  begun. 

They  came  to  the  place  where  Christian  loses  his  burden 
at  the  cross  ;  and  as  he  stood  looking  and  weeping,  three 
shining  ones  came  to  him.  The  first  said  to  him,  "  Thy  sins  be 
forgiven  thee  ;  the  second  stripped  him  of  his  rags  and  clothed 
him  with  a  change  of  raiment ;  the  third  also  set  a  mark  on 
his  forehead." 


68 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


John  explained  what  was  meant  by  the  rags  and  the  change 
of  raiment. 

"  And  the  mark  in  his  forehead  ?"  said  Ellen, 
"  That  is  the  mark  of  God's  children — the  change  wrought 
in  them  by  the  Holy  Spirit, — the  change  that  makes  them 
different  from  others,  and  different  from  their  old  selves." 
"  Do  all  Christians  have  it  ?" 

"  Certainly.    None  can  be  a  Christian  without  it." 

"  But  how  can  one  tell  whether  one  has  it  or  no  ?"  said 
Ellen  very  gravely. 

"  Carr}^  your  heart  and  life  to  the  Bible  and  see  how  they 
agree.  The  Bible  gives  a  great  many  signs  and  descriptions 
by  which  Christians  may  know  themselves, — know  both  what 
they  are  and  what  they  ought  to  be.  If  you  find  your  own 
feelings  and  manner  of  life  at  one  with  these  Bible  words,  you 
may  hope  that  the  Holy  Spirit  has  changed  you  and  set  his 
mark  upon  you." 

*'  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  of  one  of  those  places,"  said 
Ellen. 

The  Bible  is  full  of  them.  '  To  them  that  believe  Christ 
is  precious,^ — there  is  one.  '  If  ye  love  me,  keep  my  com- 
mandments — '  He  that  saith  he  abideth  in  him  ought  him- 
self also  so  to  walk  even  as  he  ivalked  ;' — '  0  liow  love  I  thy 
law.''  The  Bible  is  full  of  them,  Ellie  ;  but  you  have  need  to 
ask  for  great  help  when  you  go  to  try  yourself  by  them  ;  the 
heart  is  deceitful." 

Ellen  looked  sober  all  the  rest  of  the  evening,  and  the  next 
day  she  pondered  the  matter  a  good  deal. 

I  think  I  am  changed,"  she  said  to  herself  at  last.  "I 
didn't  use  to  like  to  read  the  Bible,  and  now  1  do  very  much  ; 
— I  never  liked  praying  in  old  times,  and  now,  0  what  should 
I  do  without  it ! — I  didn't  love  J esus  at  all,  but  I  am  sure  I 
do  now.  1  don't  keep  his  commandments,  but  I  do  try  to 
keep  them  ; — I  must  be  changed  a  little.  0  I  wish  mamma 
had  known  it  before  ," 

Weeping  with  mixed  sorrow  and  thankful  joy,  Ellen  bent 
her  head  upon  her  little  Bible  to  pray  that  she  might  be  more 
changed  ;  and  then,  as  she  often  did,  raised  the  cover  to  look 
at  the  texts  in  the  beloved  handwriting. 

"  I  love  them  that  love  me,  and  they  that  seek  me  early 
shall  find  me." 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


69 


Ellen's  tears  were  blinding  her.    "  That  has  come  true," 
she  thought. 

"  I  will  be  a  God  to  thee  and  to  thy  seed  after  thee." 

"  That  has  come  true  too  !"  she  said,  almost  in  surprise, — 
"  and  mamma  believed  it  would." — And  then,  as  by  a  flash, 
came  back  to  her  mind  the  time  it  was  written  ;  she  remem- 
bered how  when  it  was  done  her  mother's  head  had  sunk 
upon  the  open  page  ;  she  seemed  to  see  again  the  thin  fin- 
gers tightly  clasped ; — she  had  not  understood  it  then ;  she 
did  now  !  "  She  was  praying  for  me,"  thought  Ellen, — 
"  she  was  praying  for  me  !  she  beheved  that  would  come 
true." 

The  book  was  dashed  down,  and  Ellen  fell  upon  her  knees 
in  a  perfect  agony  of  weeping. 

Even  this,  when  she  was  calm  again,  served  to  steady  her 
mind.  There  seemed  to  be  a  link  of  communion  between 
her  mother  and  her  that  was  wanting  before.  The  promise, 
written  and  believed  in  by  the  one,  realized  and  rejoiced  in 
by  the  other,  was  a  dear  sometliing  in  common,  though  one 
had  in  the  meanwhile  removed  to  heaven,  and  the  other 
was  still  a  lingerer  on  the  earth.  Ellen  bound  the  words 
upon  her  heart. 

Another  time,  when  they  came  to  the  last  scene  of  Chris- 
tian's journey,  Ellen's  tears  ran  very  fast.  John  asked  if 
he  should  pass  it  over  ?  if  it  distressed  her  ?  She  said,  Oh 
no,  it  did  not  distress  her ;  she  wanted  him  to  go  on ; — and 
he  went  on,  though  himself  much  distressed,  and  Alice  was 
near  as  bad  as  Ellen.  But  the  next  evening,  to  his  surprise, 
Ellen  begged  that  before  he  went  on  to  the  second  part  he 
would  read  that  piece  over  again.  And  when  he  lent  her 
the  book,  with  only  the  charge  that  she  should  not  go  ' 
further  than  he  had  been,  she  pored  over  that  scene  with 
untiring  pleasure  till  she  almost  had  it  by  heart.  In  short, 
never  was  a  child  more  comforted  and  contented  with  a  book 
than  Ellen  was  with  the/*  Pilgrim's  Progress."  That  was  a 
blessed  visit  of  John's.  Alice  said  he  had  come  like  a  sun- 
beam into  the  house ;  she  dreaded  to  think  what  would  be 
when  he  went  away. 

She  wrote  him,  however,  when  he  had  been  gone  a  few 
weeks,  that  his  will  seemed  to  carry  all  before  it,  present  or 


YO  THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


absent.  Ellen  went  on  steadily  mending ;  at  least  she  did 
not  go  back  any.  They  were  keeping  up  their  rides,  also 
their  studies,  most  diligently ;  Ellen  was  untiring  in  her 
efForte  to  do  whatever  he  had  wished  her,  and  was  springing 
forward,  Alice  said,  in  her  improvement. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


I  keep  his  house,  and  I  wash,  wring,  brew,  bake,  scour,  dress  meat,  and  make  the  beds 
and  do  all  myself.— Shakspkare. 

The  spring  had  come  ;  and  Alice  and  Ellen  were  looking 
forward  to  pleasanter  rides  and  walks  after  the  sun  should 
have  got  a  little  warmth  and  the  snow  should  be  gone  ;  when 
one  morning  in  the  early  part  of  March  Mr.  Van  Brunt  made 
his  appearance.  Miss  Fortune  was  not  well,  and  had  sent 
him  to  beg  that  Ellen  would  come  back  to  her.  He  was 
sorry,  he  said ; — he  knew  Ellen  was  in  the  best  place  ;  but 
her  aunt  wanted  her,  and  "he  s'posed  she'd  have  to  go." 
He  did  not  know  what  was  the  matter  with  Miss  Fortune ; 
it  was  a  little  of  one  thing  and  a  little  of  another ;  *'  he  s'posed 
she'd  overdid,  and  it  was  a  wonder  for  he  didn't  know  she 
could  do  it.  She  thought  she  was  as  tough  as  a  piece  of 
shoe-leather,  but  even  that  could  be  wore  out." 

Ellen  looked  blank.  However  she  hurriedly  set  herself  to 
get  her  things  together,  and  with  Alice's  help  in  half  an  hour 
she  was  ready  to  go.  'J'he  parting  was  hard.  They  held 
each  other  fast  a  good  while,  and  kissed  each  other  many 
times  without  speaking. 

Good-bye,  dear  Ellie,"  whispered  Alice  at  last, — "  I'll 
come  and  see  you  soon.  Remember  what  John  said  when  he 
went  away." 

Ellen  did  not  trust  herself  to  speak.  She  pulled  herself 
away  from  Alice,  and  turned  to  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  saying  by 
her  manner  that  she  was  ready  ;  he  took  her  bundle  and  they 
went  out  of  the  house  together. 

Ellen  made  a  manful  eflfort  all  the  way  down  the  hill  to 
stifle  the  tears  that  were  choking  her.  She  knew  they 
would  greatly  disturb  her  companion,  and  she  did  succeed 
though  with  great  difficulty  in  keeping  them  back.  Luckily 
for  her,  he  said  hardly  anything  during  the  whole  walk  ;  she 
could  not  have  borne  to  answer  a  question.    It  was  no  fault 


72 


THE  WIDE,  "'VIDE  WORLD. 


of  Mr.  Yan  Brunt's  that  he  was  so  silent ;  he  was  beating  his 
brains  the  whole  way  to  think  of  something  it  would  do  to 
say,  and  could  not  suit  himself.  His  single  remark  was, 
"  that  it  was  like  to  be  a  fine  spring  for  the  maple,  and  he 
guessed  they'd  make  a  heap  of  sugar." 

When  they  reached  the  door  he  told  her  she  would  find 
her  aunt  up  stairs,  and  himself  tui  ned  off  to  the  barn.  Ellen 
stopped  a  minute  upon  the  threshhold  to  remember  the  last 
time  she  had  crossed  it, — and  the  first  time ;  how  changed 
everything  now  ! — and  the  thought  came,  was  this  now  to  be 
her  home  for  ever  ?  She  had  need  again  to  remember  John's 
words.  When  bidding  her  good-bye  he  had  said,  My 
little  pilgrim,  I  hope  you  will  keep  the  straight  road,  and  win 
the  praise  of  the  servant  who  was  faithful  over  a  few  things." 

I  will  try !"  thought  poor  Ellen ;  and  then  she  passed 
through  the  kitchen  and  Avent  up  to  her  own  room.  Here, 
without  stopping  to  think,  she  took  off  her  things,  gave  one 
strange  look  at  the  old  familiar  place  and  her  trunk  in  the 
corner,  fell  on  her  knees  for  one  minute,  and  then  went  to 
her  aunt's  room. 

"  Come  in  !"  cried  Miss  Fortune  when  Ellen  had  knocked. 
"  Well  Ellen,  there  you  are.  I  am  thankful  it  is  you ;  I  was 
afraid  it  might  be  Mim}^  Lawson  or  Sarah  Lowndes,  or  some 
of  the  rest  of  the  set ;  I  know  they'll  all  come  scampering 
here  as  soon  as  they  hear  I'm  laid  up." 

**  Are  you  very  sick,  aunt  Fortune  ?"  said  Ellen. 

*'  La !  no,  child ;  I  shall  be  up  again  to-morrow  ;  but  I  felt 
queer  this  morning  somehow,  and  I  thought  I'd  try  lying 
down.    1  expect  I've  caught  some  cold." 

There  Avas  no  doubt  of  this,  but  this  was  not  all.  Besides 
catching  cold,  and  doing  her  best  to  bring  it  about.  Miss 
Fortune  had  overtasked  her  strength  ;  and  by  dint  of  econ- 
omy, housewifery,  and  smartness,  had  brought  on  herself  the 
severe  punishment  of  lying  idle  and  helpless  for  a  much 
longer  time  than  she  at  first  reckoned  on. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  aunt  Fortune?"  said  Ellen. 

"  0  nothing,  as  I  know,"  said  Miss  Fortune, — "  only  let  me 
alone  and  don't  ask  me  anything,  and  keep  people  out  of  the 
house.  Mercy !  my  head  feels  as  if  it  would  go  crazy ! 
Ellen,  look  here,"  said  she,  raising  herself  on  her  elbow, — "  I 
won't  have  anybody  come  into  this  house, — if  I  he  here  till 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


73 


doomsday,  I  won't !  Now  you  mind  me.  I  aint  a  going  to 
have  Mimy  Lawson,  nor  nobody  else,  poking  all  round  into 
every  hole  and  corner,  and  turning  every  cheese  upside  down 
to  see  what's  under  it.  There  aint  one  of  'em  too  good  for 
it,  and  they  sha'n't  have  a  chance.  They'll  be  streaking 
here,  a  dozen  of  'em,  to  help  take  care  of  the  house  ;  but  I 
don't  care  what  becomes  of  the  house — I  won't  have  anybody 
in  it.  Promise  me  you  won't  let  Mr.  Van  Brunt  bring  any 
one  liere  to  help ;  I  know  I  can  trust  you  to  do  what  I  tell 
you  ;  promise  me  !" 

Ellen  promised,  a  good  deal  gratified  at  her  aunt's  last 
words  ;  and  once  more  asked  if  she  could  do  anything  for 
her. 

"01  don't  know !"  said  Miss  Fortune,  flinging  herself 
back  on  her  pillow ; — "  I  don't  care  what  you  do,  if  you  only 
keep  the  house  clear.  There's  the  clothes  in  the  basket 
under  the  table  down  stairs — you  might  begin  to  iron  'em  ; 
they're  only  rough  dry.  But  don't  come  asking  me  about 
anything ;  I  can't  bear  it. — Ellen,  don't  let  a  soul  go  into  the 
buttery  except  yourself. — And  Ellen  !  I  don't  care  if  you 
make  me  a  little  catnip  tea  ; — the  catnip's  up  in  the  store- 
room,— the  furthest  door  in  the  back  attic — here's  the  keys. 
Don't  go  to  fussing  with  anything  else  there." 

Ellen  thought  the  prospect  before  hel*  rather  doleful 
when  she  reached  the  kitchen.  It  was  in  order,  to  be  sure, 
and  clean  ;  but  it  looked  as  if  the  mistress  was  away.  The 
fire  had  gone  out,  the  room  was  cold ;  even  so  little  a  matter 
as  catnip  tea  seemed  a  thing  far  off  and  hard  to  come  by. 
While  she  stood  looking  at  the  great  logs  in  the  fireplace, 
which  she  could  hardly  move,  and  thinking  it  was  rather  a 
dismal  state  of  things,  in  came  Mr.  Van  Bnmt  with  his  good- 
natured  face,  and  wanted  to  know  if  he  could  do  anything  for 
her.  The  very  room  seemed  more  comfortable  as  soon  as  his 
big  figure  was  in  it.  He  set  about  kindling  the  fire  forthwith, 
while  Ellen  went  up  to  the  storeroom.  A  well-filled  store- 
room !  Among  other  things,  there  hung  at  least  a  dozen 
bunches  of  dried  herbs  from  one  of  the  rafters.  Ellen  thought 
she  knew  catnip,  but  after  smelling  of  two  or  three  she  be- 
came utterly  puzzled  and  was  fain  to  carry  a  leaf  of  several 
kinds  down  to  Mr.  Van  Brunt  to  find  out  which  was  which. 
When  she  came  down  again  she  found  he  had  hung  on  the 

VOL.   II.  4 


74 


THE  WIDE,  V,1DE  WORLD. 


kettle  for  her,  and  swept  up  the  hearth ;  so  Ellen,  wisely 
thinking  it  best  to  keep  busy,  put  the  ironing  blanket  on  the 
table,  and  folded  the  clothes,  and  set  the  irons  to  the  fire. 
By  this  time  the  kettle  boiled.  How  to  make  catnip  tea 
Ellen  did  not  exactly  know,  but  supposed  it  must  folloAv  the 
same  rules  as  black  tea,  in  the  making  of  which  she  felt  her- 
self very  much  at  home.  So  she  put  a  pinch  or  two  of 
catnip  leaves  into  the  pot,  poured  a  little  water  on  them,  and 
left  it  to  draw.  Meanwhile  came  in  kind  Mr.  Van  Brunt  with 
an  armfull  or  two  of  small  short  sticks  for  the  fire,  which 
Ellen  could  manage. 

"  I  wish  I  could  stay  here  and  take  care  of  you  all  the 
while,"  said  he  ;  "  but  I'll  be  round.  If  you  want  anything 
you  must  come  to  the  door  and  holler." 

Ellen  began  to  thank  him. 

"  Just  don't  say  anything  about  that,"  said  he,  moving  his 
hands  as  if  he  were  shaking  her  thanks  out  of  them  ;  "I'd 
back  all  the  wood  you  could  burn  every  day  for  the  pleasure 
of  having  you  hum  again,  if  I  didn't  know  you  was  better 
where  you  was;  but  1  can't  help  that.  Is'ow,  who  am  I 
going  to  get  to  stay  with  you  ?  Who  would  you  like  to  have." 

"  Nobody,  if  you  please,  Mr.  Van  Brunt,"  said  Ellen ; 
"  aunt  Fortune  don't  wish  it,  and  I  had  rather  not,  indeed." 

He  stood  up  and  looked  at  her  in  amazement. 

*'  Why  you  don't  mean  to  say,"  said  he,  "  that  you  are 
thinking,  or  she  is  thinking,  you  can  get  along  here  alone 
without  help  ?" 

"  I'll  get  along  somehow,"  said  Ellen.  "  Never  mind, 
please  let  me,  Mr.  Van  Brunt ;  it  would  worry  aunt  Fortune 
very  much  to  have  anybody ;  don't  say  anything  about  it." 

''Worry  her!"  said  he  ;  and  he  muttered  something  Ellen 
did  not  quite  understand,  about  bringing  the  old  woman  to 
reason." 

How^ever  he  w^ent  oflF  for  the  present ;  and  Ellen  filled  up 
her  teapot  and  carried  it  up  stairs.  Her  old  grandmother  was 
awake ;  before,  when  Ellen  w  as  in  the  room,  she  had  been 
napping  ;  now  she  showed  the  greatest  delight  at  seeing  her  ; 
fondled  her,  kissed  her,  cried  over  her,  and  finally  insisted 
on  getting  up  directly  and  going  down  stairs.  Ellen  re- 
ceived and  returned  her  caresses  with  great  tenderness,  and 
then  began  to  help  her  to  rise  and  dress. 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


75 


"  Yes,  do,"  said  Miss  Fortune  ;  "  I  shall  have  a  little  betier 
chance  of  sleeping-.   My  stars  !  Ellen,  what  do  you  call  this  ?" 
Isn't  it  catnip  ?"  said  Ellen,  alarmed. 

"  Catnip !  it  tastes  of  nothing  but  the  teakettle.  It's  as 
weak  as  dish  water.  Take  it  down  and  make  some  more. 
How  much  did  you  put  in  ?  you  want  a  good  double  hand- 
ful, stalks  and  all ;  make  it  strong.  I  can't  drink  such  stuff 
as  that.  I  think  if  I  could  get  into  a  sweat  I  should  be  better." 

Ellen  went  down,  established  her  grandmother  in  her  old 
corner,  and  made  some  more  tea.  Then,  her  irons  being  hot, 
she  began  to  iron ;  doing  double  duty  at  the  same  time,  for 
Mrs.  Montgomery  had  one  of  her  talking  fits  on,  and  it  was 
necessary  to  hear  and  answer  a  great  many  things.  Presently 
the  first  visiter  appeared  in  the  shape  of  Nancy. 

"  Well,  Ellen  !"  said  she  ;  "  so  Miss  Fortune  is  really  sick 
for  once,  and  you  are  keeping  house.    Aint  you  grand  !" 

I  don't  feel  very  grand,"  said  Ellen.  "  I  don't  know 
what  is  the  matter  with  these  clothes  ;  I  cannot  make  'em  look 
smooth." 

'*  Irons  aint  hot,"  said  Nancy. 

"  Yes  they  are,  too  hot.    I've  scorched  a  towel  already." 

"  My  goodness,  Ellen  !  I  guess  you  have.  If  Miss  Fortune 
was  down  you'd  get  it.  Why  they're  bone  dry !"  said 
Nancy,  plunging  her  hand  into  the  basket ; — you  haven't 
sprinkled  'em,  have  you  ?" 

*'To  be  sure,"  said  Ellen,  with  an  awakened  face,  "  I  for- 
got it !" 

"  Here,  get  out  of  the  way,  77/  do  it  for  you,"  said  Nancy, 
rolling  up  her  sleeves  and  pushing  Ellen  from  the  table  ; 
*'  you  just  get  me  a  bowl  of  water,  will  you,  and  we'll  have 
'em  done  in  no  time.    Who's  a-coming  to  help  you  ?" 

"  Nobody." 

"  Nobody  ! — you  poor  chicken  ;  do  you  think  you're  agoing 
to  do  all  the  work  of  the  house  yourself?" 

"  No,"  said  Ellen,  "  but  I  can  do  a  good  deal,  and  the  rest 
will  have  to  go." 

"  You  aint  going  to  do  no  such  a  thing ;  I'll  stay  myself." 

**  No  you  can't,  Nancy,"  said  Ellen,  quietly. 

"  I  guess  I  will  if  I've  a  mind  to.  I  should  like  to  know 
how  you'd  help  it ;  Miss  Fortune's  abed." 


76 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


**  I  could  help  it  though,"  said  Ellen ;  "  but  I  am  sure  you 
won't  when  I  ask  you  not." 

"  I'll  do  anything  you  please,"  said  Nancy,  "  if  you'll  get 
Miss  Fortune  to  let  me  stay.  Come  do,  Ellen !  It  will  be 
splendid ;  and  I'll  help  you  finely,  and  I  won't  bother  you 
neither.    Come  !  go  ask  her  ;  if  you  don't  I  will." 

"  I  can't,  Nancy  ;  she  don't  want  anybody ;  and  it  worries 
her  to  talk  to  her.    I  can't  go  and  ask  her." 

Nancy  impatiently  flung  down  the  cloth  she  was  sprinkling 
and  ran  up  stairs.  In  a  few  minutes  she  came  down  with  a 
triumphant  face  and  bade  Ellen  go  up  to  her  aunt. 

"  Ellen,"  said  Miss  Fortune,  "  if  I  let  Nancy  stay  will  you 
take  care  of  the  keys,  and  keep  her  out  of  the  buttery  ?" 

"  I'll  try  to,  ma'am,  as  well  as  I  can, 
I'd  as  lief  have  her  as  anybody,"  said  Miss  Fortune,  "  if 
she'd  behave  ; — she  was  with  me  a  httle  in  the  winter  ;  she  is 
smart  and  knows  the  ways ; — if  I  was  sure  she  would  behave 
herself,  but  I  am  afraid  she  will  go  rampanging  about  the 
house  hke  a  wild  cat." 

"  I  think  I  could  prevent  that,"  said  Ellen,  who  to  say 
truth  was  willing  to  have  anybody  come  to  share  what  she 
felt  would  be  a  very  great  burden.  "  She  knows  I  could  tell 
Mr.  Van  Brunt  if  she  didn't  do  right,  and  she  would  be  afraid 
of  that." 

"  Well,"  said  Miss  Fortune,  disconsolately,  "  let  her  stay 
then.  Oh  dear,  to  lie  here  !  but  tell  her  if  she  don't  do  just 
what  you  tell  her,  I'll  have  Mr.  Van  Brunt  turn  her  out  by  the 
ears.  And  don't  let  her  come  near  me,  for  she  drives  me 
mad.  And,  Ellen !  put  the  keys  in  your  pocket.  Have  you 
got  a  pocket  in  that  dress. 

**  Yes,  ma'am." 

*'  Put  'em  in  there  and  dont  take  'em  out.    Now  go." 

Nancy  agreed  to  the  conditions  with  great  glee  ;  and  the  lit- 
tle housekeeper  felt  her  mind  a  good  deal  easier  ;  for  thougli 
Nancy  herself  was  somewhat  of  a  charge,  she  was  strong  and 
willing  and  ready,  and  if  she  liked  anybody  liked  Ellen.  Mr. 
Van  Brunt  privately  asked  Ellen  if  she  chose  to  have  Nancy 
stay  ;  and  told  her,  if  she  gave  her  any  trouble,  to  let  him 
know  and  he  would  make  short  work  with  her.  The  young 
lady  herself  also  had  a  hint  on  the  subject. 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


77 


"  I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  Nancy,  when  this  business  was 
settled, — "  we'll  let  the  men  go  off  to  Miss  Van  Brunt's  to 
meals  ;  we'll  have  enough  to  do  without  'em.  That's  how 
Miss  Fortune  has  fixed  herself, — she  would  have  Sam  and 
Johnny  in  to  board  ;  they  never  used  to,  you  know,  afore  tliis 
winter. 

"  The  men  may  go,"  said  Ellen,  "  but  I  had  a  great  deal 
rather  Mr.  Van  Brunt  would  stay  than  not, — if  we  can  only 
manage  to  cook  things  for  him  ;  we  should  have  to  do  it  at 
any  rate  for  ourselves,  and  for  grandma." 

"  Well — /  aint  as  fond  of  him  as  all  that,"  said  Nancy, — 
"  but  it'll  have  to  be  as  you  like  I  suppose.  We'll  feed  him 
somehow." 

Mr.  Van  Brunt  came  in  to  ask  if  they  had  anything  in  the 
house  for  supper.  Ellen  told  him  "  plenty,"  and  would  have 
him  come  in  just  as  usual.  There  was  nothing  to  do  but  to 
make  tea ;  cold  meat  and  bread  and  butter  and  cheese  were 
all  in  the  buttery  ;  so  tliat  evening  went  off  very  quietly. 

When  she  came  down  the  next  morning  the  fire  was  burn- 
ing nicely,  and  the  kettle  on  and  singing.  Not  Nancy's  work  ; 
Mr.  Van  Brunt  had  slept  in  the  kitchen,  whether  on  the  table, 
the  floor,  or  the  chairs,  was  best  known  to  himself ;  and  be- 
fore going  to  his  work  had  left  everything  he  could  think  of 
ready  done  to  her  hand ;  wood  for  the  fire,  pails  of  water 
brought  from  the  spout,  and  some  matters  in  the  lower 
kitchen  got  out  of  the  way.  Ellen  stood  warming  herself  at 
the  blaze,  when  it  suddenly  darted  into  her  head  that  it  was 
milking  time.  In  another  minute  she  had  thrown  open  the 
door  and  was  running  across  the  chip-yard  to  the  barn. 
There,  in  the  old  place,  were  all  her  old  friends,  both  four- 
legged  and  two-legged  ;  and  with  great  delight  she  found 
Dolly  had  a  fine  calf  and  Streaky  another  superb  one,  brindled 
just  like  herself.  Ellen  longed  to  get  near  enough  to  touch 
their  little  innocent  heads,  but  it  was  impossible ;  and  recol- 
lecting the  business  on  her  hands  she  too  danced  away. 

"  Whew  !"  said  Nancy,  when  Ellen  told  her  of  the  new  in- 
mates of  the  barnyard  ; — "  there'll  be  work  to  do  !  Get  your 
milk-pans  ready,  Ellen  ; — in  a  couple  of  weeks  we'll  be  making- 
butter." 

"  Aunt  Fortune  will  be  well  by  that  time,  I  hope,"  said 
Ellen. 


78 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


"  She  won't  then,  so  you  may  just  make  up  your  mind  to 
it.  Dr.  Gibson  was  to  see  lier  yesterday  forenoon,  and  he 
stopped  at  Miss  Lowndes  on  his  way  back  ;  and  he  said  it 
was  a  chance  if  she  got  up  again  in  a  month  and  more.  So 
that's  what  it  is,  you  see." 

"  A  month  and  more."  It  was  all  that.  Miss  Fortune 
was  not  dangerously  ill ;  but  part  of  the  time  in  a  low  ner- 
vous fever,  part  of  the  time  encumbered  with  other  ailments, 
she  lay  from  week  to  week  ;  bearing  her  confinement  as  ill 
as  possible,  and  making  it  as  disagreeable  and  burdensome  as 
possible  for  Ellen  to  attend  upon  her.  Those  were  weeks  of 
trial.  Ellen's  patience  and  principle  and  temper  were  all  put 
to  the  proof.  She  had  no  love,  in  the  first  place,  for  house- 
hold work,  and  now  her  whole  time  was  filled  up  with  it. 
Studies  could  not  be  thought  of.  Reading  was  only  to  be 
had  by  mere  snatches.  Walks  and  rides  were  at  an  end. 
Often  when  already  very  tired  she  had  to  run  up  and  down 
Btairs  for  her  aunt,  or  stand  and  bathe  her  face  and  hands  with 
vinegar,  or  read  the  paper  to  her  when  Miss  Fortune  declared 
she  was  so  nervous  she  should  fly  out  of  her  skin  if  she  didn't 
hear  something  besides  the  wind.  And  very  often  when  she 
was  not  wanted  up  stairs,  her  old  grandmother  would  beg  her 
to  come  and  read  to  her, — perhaps  at  the  very  moment  when 
Ellen  v/as  busiest.  Ellen  did  her  best.  Miss  Fortune  never 
could  be  put  off ;  her  old  mother  sometimes  could,  with  a 
kiss  and  a  promise ;  but  not  always  ;  and  then,  rather  than 
she  should  fret,  Ellen  would  leave  everything  and  give  half 
an  hour  to  soothing  and  satisfying  her.  She  loved  to  do  this 
at  other  times  ;  now  it  was  sometimes  burdensome.  Nancy 
could  not  help  her  at  all  in  these  matters,  for  neither  Miss 
Fortune  nor  the  old  lady  would  let  her  come  near  them. 
Besides  all  this  there  was  a  measure  of  care  constantly  upon 
Ellen's  mind  ;  she  felt  charged  with  the  welfare  of  all  about 
the  house ;  and  under  the  effort  to  meet  the  charge,  joined  to 
the  unceasing  bodily  exertion,  she  grew  thin  and  pale.  She 
was  tired  with  Nancy's  talk ;  she  longed  to  be  reading  and 
studying  again  ;  she  longed,  oh  how  she  longed  !  for  Alice's 
and  John's  company  again  ;  and  it  was  no  wonder  if  she  some- 
times cast  very  sad  longing  looks  further  back  still.  Now  and 
then  an  old  fit  of  weeping  would  come.  But  Ellen  remem- 
bered John's  words ;  and  often  in  the  midst  of  her  work, 


THE  Vv^IDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


79 


stopping  sliort  with  a  sort  of  pang  of  sorrow  and  weariness, 
and  the  difficulty  of  doing  right,  she  would  press  her  hands 
together  and  say  to  herself,  I  will  try  to  be  a  good  pil- 
grim !"  Her  morning  hour  of  prayer  was  very  precious  now; 
and  her  Bible  grew  more  and  more  dear.  Little  Ellen  found 
its  words  a  mighty  refreshment ;  and  often  when  reading  it 
she  loved  to  recall  what  Ahce  had  said  at  this  and  the  other 
place,  and  John,  and  Mr.  Marshman,  and  before  them  her 
mother.  The  passages  about  heaven,  which  she  well  remem- 
bered reading  to  her  one  particular  morning,  became  great 
favorites ;  they  were  joined  with  her  mother  in  Ellen's 
thoughts ;  and  she  used  to  go  over  and  over  them  till  she 
nearly  knew  them  by  heart. 

"  What  do  you  keep  reading  that  for,  the  whole  time  ?'* 
said  Nancy  one  day. 

"  Because  I  like  to,"  said  Ellen. 

Well  if  you  do,  you're  the  first  one  ever  I  saw  that  did." 
*'  0  Nancy  !"  said  Ellen  ; — "your  grandma  ?" 

Well  she  does  I  believe,"  said  Nancy, — "  for  she's  always 
at  it ;  but  all  the  rest  of  the  folks  that  ever  I  saw  are  happy 
to  get  it  out  of  their  hands,  /  know.  They  think  they  must 
2'ead  a  little  and  so  they  do,  and  they  are  too  glad  if  some- 
thing happens  to  break  'em  off.  You  needn't  tell  me  ;  I've 
seen  'em." 

I  wish  you  loved  it,  Nancy,"  said  Ellen. 
"  Well  what  do  you  love  it  for  ?  come,  let's  hear ;  maybe 
you'll  convert  me." 

"  I  love  it  for  a  great  many  reasons,"  said  Ellen,  who  had 
some  difficulty  in  speaking  of  what  she  felt  Nancy  could  not 
understand. 

"  Well — I  aint  any  wiser  yet." 

I  like  to  read  it  because  I  want  to  go  to  heaven,  and  it 
tells  me  how." 

"  But  what's  the  use  ?"  said  Nancy  ; — "  you  aint  going  to 
die  yet;  you  are  too  young;  you've  time  enough." 

"  0  Nancy ! — little  John  Dolan,  and  Eleanor  Parsons,  and 
Mary  Huff, — all  younger  than  you  and  I ;  how  can  you  say 
so?" 

"  Well,"  said  Nancy, — "  at  any  rate,  that  aint  reading 
it  because  you  love  it ; — it's  because  you  must,  hke  other 
folks." 


80 


THE   WIDE,  V»  ID£  WORLD. 


"  That's  only  one  of  my  reasons,"  said  Ellen  hesitating,  and 
speaking  gravely ; — "  I  like  to  read  about  the  Saviour,  and 
what  he  has  done  for  me,  and  what  a  friend  he  will  be  to 
me,  and  how  he  forgives  me.  I  had  rather  have  the  Bible, 
Nancy,  than  all  the  other  books  in  the  world." 

"  That  aint  saying  much,"  said  Nancy  ; — "  but  how  come 
you  to  be  so  sure  you  are  forgiven  ?" 

"  Because  the  Bible  says,  '  He  that  believeth  on  him  shall 
not  be  ashamed,'  and  I  believe  in  him  ; — and  that  he  will  not 
cast  out  any  one  that  comes  to  him,  and  I  have  come  to  him ; 
— and  that  he  loves  those  that  loves  him,  and  I  love  him.  If 
it  did  not  speak  so  very  plainly  I  should  be  afraid,  but  it 
makes  me  happy  to  read  such  verses  as  these.  I  wish  you 
knew,  Nancy,  how  happy  it  makes  me." 

This  profession  of  faith  was  not  spoken  without  starting 
tears.    Nancy  made  no  reply. 

As  Miss  Fortune  had  foretold,  plenty  of  people  came  to 
the  house  with  proffers  of  service.  Nancy's  being  there  made 
it  easy  for  Ellen  to  get  rid  of  them  all.  Many  were  the  mar- 
vels that  Miss  Fortune  should  trust  her  house  to  "  two  girls 
like  that,"  and  many  the  guesses  that  she  would  rue  it  when 
she  got  np  again.  People  were  wrong.  Things  went  on 
very  steadily  and  in  an  orderly  manner ;  and  Nancy  kept 
tb.e  peace  as  she  would  have  done  in  few  houses.  Bold  and 
insolent  as  she  sometimes  was  to  others,  she  regarded  Ellen 
with  a  mixed  notion  of  respect  and  protection,  which  led  her 
at  once  to  shun  doing  anything  that  would  grieve  her,  and 
to  thrust  her  aside  from  every  heavy  or  difficult  job,  taking 
the  brunt  herself.  Nancy  might  well  do  this,  for  she  was  at 
least  twice  as  strong  as  Ellen ;  but  she  would  not  have  done 
it  for  everybody. 

There  were  visits  of  kindness  as  well  as  visits  of  officiousness. 
Alice  and  Mrs.  Van  Brunt  and  Margery,  one  or  the  other 
every  day.  Margery  would  come  in  and  mix  up  a  batch  of 
bread  ;  Alice  would  bring  a  bowl  of  butter,  or  a  basket  of 
cake  ;  and  Mrs.  Van  Brunt  sent  whole  dinners.  Mr.  Van 
Brunt  was  there  always  at  night,  and  about  the  place  as 
much  as  possible  during  the  day ;  when  obliged  to  be  absent, 
he  stationed  Sam  Barkens  to  guard  the  house,  also  to  bring 
wood  and  water  and  do  whatever  he  was  bid.  All  the  help 
however  that  Avas  given  from  abroad  could  not  make  Ellen's 


THE  -WIDE,  AVIDE  "WORLD. 


81 


life  an  easy  one  ;  Mr.  Van  Brunt's  wishes  that  Miss  Fortune 
would  get  up  again  began  to  come  very  often.  The  history 
of  one  day  may  serve  for  the  history  of  all  those  weeks. 

It  was  in  the  beginning  of  April.  Ellen  came  down  stairs 
early,  but  come  when  she  would  she  found  the  fire  made  and  the 
kettle  on.  Ellen  felt  a  httle  as  if  she  had  not  quite  slept  off  the 
remembrance  of  yesterday's  fatigue ;  however,  that  was  no 
matter ;  she  set  to  work.  She  swept  up  the  kitchen,  got  her 
milk  strainer  and  pans  ready  upon  the  buttery  shelf,  and 
began  to  set  the  table.  By  the  time  this  was  half  done,  in 
came  Sam  Larkens  with  two  great  pails  of  milk,  and  Johnny 
Low  followed  with  another.  They  were  much  too  heavy  for 
Ellen  to  hft,  but  true  to  her  charge  she  let  no  one  come  into 
the  buttery  but  herself ;  she  brought  the  pans  to  the  door, 
where  Sam  filled  them  for  her,  and  as  each  was  done  she  set 
it  in  its  place  on  the  shelf.  This  took  some  time  for  there  were 
eight  of  them.  She  had  scarce  wiped  up  the  spilt  milk  and 
finished  setting  the  table  when  Mr.  Van  Brunt  came  in. 
Good  morning  !"  said  he.    How  d'ye  do  to-day?" 

"  Very  well,  Mr.  Van  Brunt." 

*'  I  wish  you'd  look  a  little  redder  in  the  face.  Don't  you 
be  too  busy  ?    Where's  Nancy  ?" 

"  0  she's  busy,  out  with  the  clothes." 

"  Same  as  ever  up  stairs  ? — What  are  you  going  to  do  for 
breakfast,  Ellen?" 

I  don't  know,  Mr.  Van  Brunt ;  there  isn't  anything  cooked 
in  the  house  ;  w®  have  eaten  everything  up." 

"  Cleaned  out,  eh  ?    Bread  and  all  ?" 

"  0  no,  not  bread ;  there's  plenty  of  that,  but  there's 
nothing  else." 

"  Well  never  mind  ; — you  bring  me  a  ham  and  a  dozen  of 
eggs,  and  I'll  make  you  a  first-rate  breakfast." 

Ellen  laughed,  for  this  was  not  the  first  time  Mr.  Van 
Brunt  had  acted  as  cook  for  the  family.  While  she  got  what 
he  had  asked  for,  and  bared  a  place  on  the  table  for  his 
operations,  he  went  to  the  spout  and  washed  his  hands. 

"  Now  a  sharp  knife,  Ellen,  and  the  frying  pan,  and  a  dish, 
— and  that's  all  I  want  of  you." 

Ellen  brought  them,  and  while  he  was  busy  with  the  banc 
she  made  the  coffee  and  set  it  by  the  side  of  the  fire  to  boil ; 
got  the  cream  and  butter,  and  set  the  bread  on  the  table  ;  and 
4* 


82 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  W^ORLD. 


then  set  herself  down  to  rest,  and  amuse  herself  with  Mr. 
Van  Brunt's  cookery.  He  was  no  mean  hand  ;  his  slices  of 
ham  were  very  artist-like,  and  frying  away  in  the  most  unex- 
ceptionable manner.  Ellen  watched  him  and  laughed  at  him, 
till  the  ham  was  taken  out  and  all  the  eggs  bi  oke  in  ;  then 
after  seeing  that  the  coffee  was  right  she  went  upstairs  to  dress 
her  grandmother — always  the  last  thing  before  breakfast. 

"  Who's  frying  ham  and  eggs  down  stairs?"  inquired  Miss 
Fortune. 

"  Mr.  Van  Brunt,"  said  Ellen. 

This  answer  was  unexpected.  Miss  Fortune  tossed  her 
head  over  in  a  dissatisfied  kind  of  way,  and  told  Ellen  to 
"tell  him  to  be  careful." 

"Of  what?"  thought  Ellen;  and  wisely  concluded  with 
herself  not  to  deliver  the  message  ;  very  certain  she  should 
laugh  if  she  did,  and  she  had  running  in  her  head  an  indis- 
tinct notion  of  the  command,  "  Honor  thy  father  and  thy 
mother." 

Breakfast  was  ready  but  no  one  there  when  she  got  down 
stairs.  She  placed  her  grandmother  at  table,  and  called 
Nancy,  who  all  this  time  had  been  getting  the  clothes  out  of 
the  rinsing  water  and  hanging  them  out  on  the  line  to  dry ; 
said  clothes  having  been  washed  the  day  before  by  Miss 
Sarah  Lowndes,  who  came  there  for  the  purpose.  Ellen 
poured  out  the  coffee,  and  then  in  came  Mr.  Van  Brunt  with 
a  head  of  early  lettuce  which  he  h;id  pulled  in  the  garden  and 
washed  at  the  spout.  Ellen  had  to  jump  up  again  to  get  the 
salt  and  pepper  and  vinegar  ;  but  she  always  jumped  wilhngly 
for  Mr.  Van  Brunt.  'J  he  meals  were  pleasanter  during  those 
weeks  than  in  all  the  time  Ellen  had  been  in  Thirl  wall  before  ; 
or  she  thought  so.  That  sharp  eye  at  the  head  of  the  table 
was  pleasantly  missed,  'i  hey  with  one  accord  sat  longer  at 
meals  ;  more  talking  and  laughing  went  on ;  nobody  felt 
afraid  of  being  snapped  up.  Mr.  Van  Brunt  praised  Ellen's 
cofiee,  (he  had  taught  her  how  to  make  it,)  and  she  praised 
his  ham  and  eggs.  Old  Mrs.  Montgomery  praised  every- 
thing, and  seemed  to  be  in  particular  comfoit ;  talked  as 
much  as  she  had  a  mind,  and  was  respectfully  attended  to. 
Nancy  was  in  high  feather ;  and  the  clatter  of  knives  and 
forks  and  tea  cups  went  on  very  pleasantly.  But  at  last 
chairs  were  pushed  from  the  table,  and  work  began  again. 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


83 


Nancy  went  back  to  lier  tubs.  Ellen  supplied  her  grand- 
mother with  her  knittino-  and  filled  her  snufF-box  ;  cleared 
the  table  and  put  up  the  dishes  ready  for  washing.  Then 
she  went  into  the  buttery  to  skim  the  cream.  This  was  a 
part  of  the  work  she  liked.  It  was  heavy  lifting  the  pans  of 
milk  to  the  skimming  shelf  before  the  window,  but  as  Ellen 
drew  her  spoon  round  the  edge  of  the  cream  she  liked  to  see 
it  wrinkle  up  in  thick  yellow  leathery  folds,  showing  how 
deep  and  rich  it  was  ;  it  looked  half  butter  already.  She 
knew  how  to  take  it  off  now  very  nicely.  The  cream  was 
set  by  in  a  vessel  for  future  churning,  and  the  milk,  as  each 
pan  was  skimmed,  was  poured  down  the  wooden  trough  at 
the  left  of  the  window  through  which  it  went  into  a  great 
hogshead  at  the  lower  kitchen  door. 

This  done  Ellen  went  up  stairs  to  her  aunt.  Dr.  Gibson 
always  came  early,  and  she  and  her  room  must  be  put  in 
apple-pie  order  first.  It  was  a  long  wearisome  job.  Ellen 
brought  the  basin  for  her  to  wash  her  face  and  hands  ;  then 
combed  her  hair  and  put  on  her  clean  cap.  That  was  always 
the  first  thing.  The  next  was  to  make  the  bed  ;  and  for  this, 
^.liss  Fortune,  Aveak  or  strong,  wrapped  herself  up  and  tum- 
bled out  upon  the  floor.  When  she  was  comfortably  placed 
again,  Ellen  had  to  go  through  a  laborious  dusting  of  the  room 
and  all  the  things  in  it,  even  taking  a  dustpan  and  brush  to 
the  floor  if  any  speck  of  dust  or  crumbs  could  be  seen  there. 
Every  rung  of  every  chair  must  be  gone  over,  though  never 
so  clean ;  every  article  put  up  or  put  out  of  the  way  ;  Miss 
Fortune  made  the  most  of  the  little  province  of  housekeeping 
that  was  left  her  ;  and  a  fluttering  tape  escaping  through  the 
crack  of  the  door  would  have  put  her  whole  spirit  topsy- 
turvy. When  all  was  to  her  mind,  and  not  before,  she  would 
have  her  breakfast.  Only  gruel  and  biscuit,  or  toast  and  tea, 
or  some  such  trifle,  but  Ellen  must  prepare  it,  and  bring  it  up 
stairs,  and  wait  till  it  was  eaten.  And  very  particularly  it 
must  be  prepared,  and  very  faultlessly  it  must  be  served,  or 
with  an  impatient  expression  of  disgust  Miss  Fortune  would 
send  it  down  again.  On  the  whole  Ellen  always  thought 
herself  happy  when  this  part  of  her  day  was  well  over. 

When  she  got  down  this  morning  she  found  the  kitchen 
in  ni^e  order,  and  Nancy  standing  by  the  fire  in  a  little  sort 
of  pause,  having  just  done  the  breakfast  dishes. 


84 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  W^ORLD. 


"Well !"  said  Nancy, — "  what  are  you  going  to  do  now  ?" 
"  Put  away  these  dishes,  and  then  churn,"  said  Ellen. 
**  My  goodness  !  so  you  are.    What's  going  to  be  for  din- 
ner, Ellen  ?" 

"  That's  more  than  I  know,"  said  Ellen  laughing.  "  We 
have  eaten  up  Mrs.  Van  Brunt's  pie  and  waslied  the  dish ; — • 
there's  nothing  but  some  cold  potatoes." 

"  That  Avon't  do,"  said  Nancy.  "  I  tell  you  what,  Ellen, 
— we'll  just  boil  pot  for  to-day  ;  somebody  else  will  send  us 
something  by  to-morrow  most  likely." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  '  boil  pot,'  "  said  Ellen. 
0  you  don't  know  everything  yet,  by  half,    /know — 
I'll  fix  it.    You  just  give  me  the  things,  Miss  Housekeeper, 
that's  all  you've  got  to  do ;  I  want  a  piece  of  pork  and  a 
piece  of  beef,  and  all  the  vegetables  you've  got." 

"  All  ?"  said  Ellen. 
Every  soul  on  'em.    Don't  be  scared,  Ellen  ;  you  shall 
see  what  I  can  do  in  the  way  of  cookery  ;  if  you  don't  like 
it  you  needn't  eat  it.    What  have  you  got  in  the  cellar  ?" 

"  Come  and  see,  and  take  what  you  want,  Nancy ;  there 
is  plenty  of  potatoes  and  carrots  and  onions,  and  beets  I  be- 
lieve ;  the  turnips  are  all  gone." 

Parsnips  out  in  the  yard,  aint  there  ?" 

"  Yes,  but  you'll  have  to  do  Avith  a  piece  of  pork,  Nancy 
I  don't  know  anything  about  beef." 

While  Nancy  went  round  the  cellar  gathering  in  her  apron 
the  various  roots  she  wanted,  Ellen  uncovered  the  pork  bar- 
rel, and  after  looking  a  minute  at  the  dark  pickle  she  never 
loved  to  plunge  into,  bravely  bared  her  arm  and  fished  up  a 
piece  of  pork. 

"Now,  Nancy,  just  help  me  with  this  churn  out  of  the 
cellar,  will  you  ?  and  then  you  may  go." 

"  My  goodness  !  it  is  heavy,"  said  Nancy.  You'll  have 
a  time  of  it,  Ellen  ;  but  I  can't  help  you." 

She  went  off  to  the  garden  for  parsnips,  and  Ellen  quietly 
put  in  the  dasher  and  the  cover,  and  began  to  churn.  It  was 
tiresome  work.  The  churn  was  pretty  full,  as  Nancy  had  said  ; 
the  cream  was  rich  and  cold,  and  at  the  end  of  half  an  hour 
grew  very  stiff.  It  spattered  and  sputtered  up  on  Ellen's  face 
and  hands  and  frock  and  apron,  and  over  the  floor ;  legs  and 
arms  were  both  weary  ;  but  still  that  pitiless  dasher  must  go 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


85 


up  and  down,  hard  as  it  might  be  to  force  it  either  way ;  she 
must  not  stop.  In  this  state  of  matters  she  heard  a  pair  of 
thick  shoes  come  clumping  down  the  stairs,  and  beheld  Mr. 
Van  Brunt. 

Here  you  are  !"  said  he.  "  Churning  ! — Been  long  at  it  V' 
"  A  good  while,"  said  Ellen,  with  a  sigh. 
"  Coming  ?" 
"  I  don't  know  when." 

Mr.  Van  Brunt  stepped  to  the  door  and  shouted  for  Sam 
Larkens.  He  was  ordered  to  take  the  churn  and  bring  the 
butter  ;  and  Ellen,  very  glad  of  a  rest,  went  out  to  amuse 
herself  with  feeding  the  chickens,  and  then  up  stairs  to  see 
what  Nancy  was  doing. 

"  Butter  come  ?"  said  Nancy. 

"  No,  Sam  has  taken  it.  How  are  you  getting  on  ?  0,  I 
am  tired  !" 

I'm  getting  on  first-rate  ;  I've  got  all  the  things  in." 
"  In  what !" 

*'  Why  in  the  pot ! — in  a  pot  of  water,  boiling  away  as  fast 
as  they  can;  we'll  have  dinner  directly.  Hurra!  who  comes 
there  ?" 

She  jumped  to  the  door.  It  was  Thomas,  bringing  Mar- 
gery's respects,  and  a  custard  pie,  for  Miss  Ellen. 

"  I  declare,"  said  Nancy,  "  it  is  a  good  thing  to  have  friends, 
aint  it  ?  I'll  try  and  get  some. — Hollo  !  what's  wanting  ? — 
Mr.  Van  Brunt's  calling  you,  Ellen,"' 

Ellen  ran  down. 
The  butter's  come,"  said  he.    "  Now  do  you  know  what 
to  do  with  it?" 

"  0  yes,"  said  Ellen  smiling  ;  "  Margery  showed  me  nicely." 

He  brought  her  a  pail  of  water  from  the  spout,  and  stood 
by  with  a  pleased  kind  of  look,  while  she  carefully  lifted  the 
cover  and  rinsed  down  the  little  bits  of  butter  whicli  stuck  to 
it  and  the  dasher ;  took  out  the  butter  with  her  ladle  into  a 
large  wooden  bowl,  washed  it,  and  finally  salted  it. 

"  Don't  take  too  much  pains,"  said  he  ; — "  the  less  of  the 
hand  it  gets  the  better.    That  will  do  very  well." 

"  Now  are  you  ready  ?"  said  Nancy,  coming  down  stairs, 
"  'cause  dinner  is.  My  goodness  !  aint  that  a  fine  lot  of  but- 
ter ?  there's  four  pounds,  aint  there  ?" 


86 


**  Five,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt. 

*'  And  as  sweet  as  it  can  be,"  said  Ellen.  "  Beautiful,  isn't 
it?  Yes,  I'm  ready,  as  soon  as  1  set  this  in  the  cellar  and 
cover  it  up." 

Nancy's  dish, — the  pork,  potatoes,  carrots,  beets,  and 
cabbage,  all  boiled  in  the  same  pot  together, — was  found 
very  much  to  everybody's  taste  except  Ellen's.  She  made 
her  dinner  off  potatoes  and  bread,  the  former  of  which  she 
declared,  laughing,  were  very  porky  and  cabbagy  ;  her  meal 
would  have  been  an  extremely  light  one  if  it  had  not  been  for 
the  custard  pie. 

After  dinner  new  labors  began.  Xancy  had  forgotten  to 
hang  on  a  pot  of  water  for  the  dishes  ;  so  after  putting  away 
the  eatables  in  the  buttery,  while  the  water  was  heating, 
Ellen  warmed  some  gruel  and  carried  it  with  a  plate  of  bis- 
cuit up  stairs  to  her  aunt.  But  Miss  Fortune,  said  she  was 
tired  of  gruel  and  couldn't  eat  it ;  she  must  have  some  milk 
porridge  ;  and  she  gave  Ellen  very  particular  directions  how 
to  make  it.  Ellen  sighed  only  once  as  she  went  dov,'n  with 
her  despised  dish  of  gruel,  and  set  about  doing  her  best  to 
fulfill  her  aunt's  wishes.  The  first  dish  of  milk  she  burnt; — 
another  sigh  and  another  trial ; — better  care  this  time  had  bet 
ter  success,  and  Ellen  had  the  satisfaction  to  see  her  aunt 
perfectly  suited  with  her  dinner. 

When  she  came  down  with  the  empty  bowl  Nancy  had  a 
pile  of  dishes  ready  washed,  and  Ellen  took  the  towel  to  dry 
them.  Mrs.  Montgomery,  who  had  been  in  an  uncommonly 
quiet  fit  all  day,  now  laid  down  her  knitting  and  asked  if 
Ellen  would  not  come  and  read  to  her. 

"  Presently,  grandma, —  as  soon  as  1  have  done  here. 

"  I  know  somebody  that's  tired,"  said  Nancy.  "  I  tell 
you  what  Ellen, — you  had  better  take  to  liking  pork  ;  you  can't 
work  on  potatoes.  I  aint  tired  a  bit.  There's  somebody 
coming  to  the  door  again  !  Do  run  and  open  it,  will  you  ? 
my  hands  are  wet.  1  wonder  why  folks  can't  come  in  with- 
out giving  so  much  trouble." 

It  was  Thomas  again,  with  a  package  for  Ellen  which  had 
just  come,  he  s:dd,  and  Miss  Alice  thought  she  would  like  to 
have  it  directly.  Ellen  thanked  her,  and  thanked  him,  with 
a  face  from  which  all  signs  of  weariness  had  fled  away.  The 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


87 


parcel  was  sealed  up,  and  directed  in  a  hand  she  was  pretty 
sure  she  knew.  Her  fingers  burned  to  break  the  seals  ;  but 
she  would  not  open  it  there,  neither  leave  her  work  unfin- 
ished ;  she  went  on  wiping  the  dishes  with  trembling  hands 
and  a  beatinof  heart. 

"  What's  that  ?"  said  Nancy  ;  "  what  did  Thomas  Grimes 
want?  what  have  you  got  there  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Ellen  smifinor ; — "  somethinof  ofood,  I 
pjuess." 

"  Something  good  ?  is  it  something  to  eat  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Ellen, — "  I  didn't  mean  anything  to  eat  when 
I  said  something  good  ;  I  don't  think  those  are  the  best 
things." 

To  Ellen's  delight,  she  saw  that  her  grandmother  had  for- 
gotten about  the  reading  and  was  quietly  taking  short  naps 
with  her  head  against  the  chimney.  So  she  put  away  the 
last  dish,  and  then  seized  her  package  and  flew  up  stairs. 
She  was  sure  it  had  come  from  Doncaster  ;  she  was  right.  It 
was  a  beautiful  copy  of  the  Pilgrim's  Progess, — on  the  first  leaf 
written,  "  To  my  little  sister  Ellen  Montgomery,  from  J.  H. ;" 
and  within  the  cover  la}"  a  letter.  This  letter  Ellen  read  in 
the  course  of  the  next  six  da^^s  at  least  twice  as  many  times ; 
and  never  without  crying  over  it. 

"  Alice  has  told  me  "  (said  John,)  "  about  your  new  trou- 
bles. There  is  said  to  be  a  time  '  when  tlie  clouds  return 
after  the  rain.'  I  am  sorry,  my  Httle  sister,  this  time  should 
come  to  you  so  early.  I  often  think  of  you,  and  wish  I  could 
be  near  you.  Still,  dear  Kllie,  the  good  Husbandman  knows 
Vvhat  his  plants  want  ;  do  you  believe  that,  and  can  you 
trust  him  ?  They  should  have  nothing  but  sunshine  if  that 
was  good  for  them.  He  knows  it  is  not  ;  so  there  come 
clouds  and  rains,  and  '  stormy  wind  fulfilling  his  will.'  And 
what  is  it  all  for? — '  Herein  is  my  Father  glorified,  that  ye 
hear  much  fruit ;'  do  not  disappoint  his  purpose,  Ellie.  We 
shall  have  sunshine  enough  by-and-by, — but  I  know  it  is 
hard  for  so  young  a  one  as  my  little  sister  to  look  much 
forwai  d  ;  so  do  not  look  forward,  Ellie  ;  look  up  !  look  off 
unto  Jesus, — from  all  your  duties,  troubles,  and  wants;  he 
will  lielp  you  in  them  all.  The  more  you  look  up  to  him  the 
more  he  will  1  lok  down  to  you;   and  he  especially  said. 


88 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


*  Suffer  little  children  to  come  unto  me  ;'  you  see  you  are 
particularly  invited." 

Ellen  was  a  long  time  up  stairs,  and  when  she  came  down 
it  was  with  red  eyes. 

Mrs.  Montgomery  was  now  awake  and  asked  for  the  read- 
ing again  ;  and  for  three  quarters  of  an  hour  Ellen  and  she 
were  quietly  busy  with  the  Bible.  Nancy  meanwhile  was 
down  stairs  washing  the  dairy  things.  When  her  grandmother 
released  her  Ellen  had  to  go  up  to  wait  upon  her  aunt ;  after 
which  she  went  into  the  buttery,  and  skimmed  the  cream,  and 
got  the  pans  ready  for  the  evening  milk.  By  this  time  it  was 
five  o'clock,  and  Nancy  came  in  with  the  basket  of  dry 
clothes ;  at  which  Ellen  looked  with  the  sorrowful  conscious- 
ness that  they  must  be  sprinkled  and  folded  by-and-by,  and 
ironed  to-morrow.  It  happened  however  that  Jane  Huff 
came  in  just  then  with  a  quantity  of  hot  short-cake  for  tea ; 
and  seeing  the  basket  she  very  kindly  took  the  business  of 
sprinkling  and  folding  upon  herself.  This  gave  Ellen  spirits 
to  carry  out  a  plan  she  had  long  had,  to  delight  the  whole 
family  with  some  eggs  scrambled  in  Margery's  fashion ; 
after  the  milk  was  strained  and  put  away  she  went  about  it, 
while  Nancy  set  the  table.  A  nice  bed  of  coals  was  pre- 
pared ;  the  spider  set  over  them  ;  the  eggs  broken  in,  pep- 
pered and  salted  ;  and  she  began  carefully  to  stir  them  as 
she  had  seen  Margery  do.  But  instead  of  acting  right  the 
eggs  maliciously  stuck  fast  to  the  spider  and  burned.  Ellen 
was  confounded. 

"  How  much  butter  did  you  put  in  ?"  said  Mr.  Yan  Brunt, 
who  had  come  in,  and  stood  looking  on. 

"  Butter !"  said  Ellen  looking  up, — "  0  I  forgot  all  about 
it ! — I  ought  to  have  put  that  in,  oughtn't  I  ? — I'm  sorry  !" 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt, — 't  aint  worth  your 
being  sorry  about.  Here  Nancy — clean  us  off  this  spider, 
and  we'll  try  again." 

At  this  moment  Miss  Fortune  was  heard  screaming ;  Ellen 
ran  up. 

What  did  she  v>^ant?"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt  when  she 
came  down  again. 

"  She  wanted  to  know  what  was  burning." 
"  Did  you  tell  her  ?" 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


89 


«  Yes." 

"Well  what  did  she  say?" 

"  Said  I  mustn't  use  any  more  eggs  without  asking  her." 

"  That  aint  fair  play,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt ; — "  you  and  I 
are  the  head  of  the  house  now,  I  take  it.  You  just  use  as 
many  on  'em  as  you've  a  mind  ;  and  all  you  spile  I'll  fetch 
you  again  from  hum.  'i  hat's  you,  Nancy  !  Now  Ellen, 
here's  the  spider ;  try  again ;  let's  have  plenty  of  butter  in 
this  time,  and  plenty  of  eggs  too." 

This  time  the  eggs  were  scrambled  to  a  nicety,  and  the 
supper  met  with  great  favor  from  all  parties. 

Ellen's  day  was  done  when  the  dishes  were.  The  whole 
family  went  early  to  bed.  She  was  weary  ; — but  she  could 
rest  well.  She  had  made  her  old  grandmother  comfortable ; 
she  had  kept  the  peace  with  Nancy  ;  she  had  pleased  Mr. 
Van  Brunt ;  she  had  faithfully  served  her  aunt.  Her  sleep 
was  uncrossed  b};-  a  dream,  untroubled  by  a  single  jar  of 
conscience.  And  her  awaking  to  another  day  of  labor, 
thougli  by  no  means  joyful,  was  yet  not  vmhopeful  or  un- 
happy. 

She  had  a  hard  trial  a  day  or  two  after.  It  was  in  the 
end  of  the  afternoon,  she  had  her  big  apron  on,  and  was  in 
the  buttery  skimming  the  milk,  when  she  heard  the  kitchen 
door  open,  and  footsteps  enter  the  kitchen.  Out  went 
little  Ellen  to  see  who  it  was,  and  there  stood  Alice  and  old 
Mr.  Marshman!  He  was  going  to  take  Alice  home  with 
him'  the  next  morning,  and  wanted  Ellen  to  go  too  ;  and  they 
had  come  to  ask  her.  Ellen  knew  it  was  impossible,  that  is, 
that  it  would  not  be  right,  and  she  said  so  ;  and  in  spite  of 
Alice's  wistful  look,  and  Mr.  Marshman's  insisting,  she  stood 
her  ground.  Not  without  some  difficulty,  and  some  glisten- 
ing of  the  eyes.  They  had  to  give  it  up.  Mr.  Marshman 
then  wanted  to  know  what  she  meant  by  swallowing  hei'self 
up  in  an  apron  in  that  sort  of  a  way  ?  so  Ellen  had  him  into 
the  buttery  and  showed  him  what  she  had  been  about.  He 
would  see  her  skim  several  pans,  and  laughed  at  her  pro- 
digiously ;  though  there  was  a  queer  look  about  his  eyes, 
too,  all  the  time.  And  when  he  went  away,  he  held  her  iu 
his  arms,  and  kissed  her  again  and  again  ;  and  said  that  some 
of  these  days  he  would  take  her  away  from  her  aunt,  and  she 
should  have  her  no  more."    Ellen  stood  and  looked  aftei 


90 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WOULD. 


them  till  they  were  out  of  sight,  and  then  went  up  staiis 
and  had  a  good  cry. 

Tlie  butter-making  soon  became  quite  too  much  for  Ellen  to 
manage  ;  so  Jane  Huff  and  Jenny  Hitchcock  were  engaged 
to  come  by  turns  and  do  the  heavy  part  of  it ;  all  within  the 
buttery  being  still  left  to  Ellen,  for  Miss  Fortune  would  have 
no  one  else  go  there.  It  was  a  great  help  to  have  them 
take  even  so  much  off  her  hands ;  and  they  often  did  some 
other  little  odd  jobs  for  her.  The  milk  however  seemed  to 
increase  as  fast  as  the  days  grew  longer,  and  Ellen  could  not 
find  that  she  was  much  less  busy.  The  days  were  growing 
pleasant  too ;  soft  airs  began  to  come ;  the  grass  was  of  a 
beautiful  green  ;  the  buds  on  the  branches  began  to  swell,  and 
on  some  trees  to  put  out.  When  Ellen  had  a  moment  of 
time  she  used  to  run  across  the  chip-yard  to  the  barn,  or 
round  the  garden,  or  down  to  the  brook,  and  drink  in  the 
sweet  air  and  the  lovely  sights  which  never  had  seemed 
quite  so  lovely  before.  If  once  in  a  while  she  could  get  half 
an  hour  before  tea,  she  used  to  take  her  book  and  sit  down 
on  the  threshold  of  the  front  door,  or  on  the  big  log  under 
the  apple-tree  in  the  chip-yard.  In  those  minutes  the 
reading  was  doubly  sweet ;  or  else  the  loveliness  of  earth 
and  sky  was  such  that  Ellen  could  not  take  her  eyes  from 
them  ;  till  she  saw  Sam  or  Johnny  coming  out  of  the  cow- 
house door  with  the  pails  of  milk,  or  heard  their  heavy 
tramp  over  the  chips ; — then  she  had  to  jump  and  run. 
Those  were  sweet  half  hours.  Ellen  did  not  at  first  know 
how  much  reason  she  had  to  be  delighted  with  her  "  Pil- 
grim's Progress  ;"  she  saw  to  be  sure  that  it  was  a  fine  copy, 
well  bound,  with  beautiful  cuts.  But  when  she  came  to 
look  further,  she  found  all  through  the  book,  on  the  margin 
or  at  the  bottom  of  the  leaves,  in  John's  beautiful  hand- 
writing, a  great  many  notes ;  simple,  short,  plain,  exactly 
what  was  needed  to  open  the  whole  book  to  her  and  make 
it  of  the  greatest  possible  use  and  pleasure.  Many  things 
she  remembered  hearing  from  his  lips  when  they  were  read- 
ing it  together ;  there  was  a  large  part  of  the  book  where 
all  was  new;  the  part  he  had  not  had  time  to  finish.  How 
Ellen  loved  the  book  and  the  giver  when  she  found  these 
beautiful  notes,  it  is  impossible  to  tell.  She  counted  it  hei 
greatest  treasure  next  to  her  Uttle  red  Bible. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 


*  O  what  will  T  do  wi'  him.  qao'  he, 

What  will  I  do  wi'  him  ? 
What  will  I  do  wi'  him,  quo'  he, 
What  will  I  do  wi'  him?" 

Old  Song. 

In  the  course  of  time  Miss  Fortune  showed  signs  of  mend- 
ing ;  and,  at  last,  towards  the  latter  end  of  April,  she  was 
able  to  come  down  stairs.  All  parties  hailed  this  event  for 
different  reasons  ;  even  Nancy  was  grown  tired  of  her  regular 
life,  and  willing  to  have  a  change.  Ellen's  joy  was, "however, 
soon  diminished  by  the  terrible  rummaging  which  took  place. 
Miss  Fortune's  hands  were  yet  obliged  to  lie  still,  but  her 
eyes  did  double  duty ;  they  were  never  known  to  be  idle  in 
the  best  of  times,  and  it  seemed  to  Ellen  now  as  if  they  were 
taking  amends  for  all  their  weeks  of  forced  rest.  Oh,  those 
eyes  !  Dust  was  found  Avhere  Ellen  never  dreamed  of  look- 
ing for  any ;  things  were  said  to  be  dreadfully  "  in  the  way" 
where  she  had  never  found  it  out ;  disorder  and  dirt  were 
groaned  over,  where  Ellen  did  not  know  the  fact  or  was 
utterly  ignorant  how  to  help  it ;  waste  was  suspected  where 
none  had  been,  and  carelessness  charged  where  rather  praise 
was  due.  Impatient  to  have  things  to  her  mind,  and  as  yet 
unable  to  do  anything  herself,  Miss  Fortune  kept  Nancy  and 
Ellen  running,  till  both  wished  her  back  in  bed  ;  and  even  Mr. 
Van  Brunt  grumbled  that  "  to  pay  Ellen  for  having  grown 
white  and  poor,  her  aunt  was  going  to  work  the  little  flesh 
she  had  left  off  her  bones."  It  was  rather  hard  to  bear,  just 
when  she  was  looking  for  ease  too ;  her  patience  and  temper 
were  more  tried  than  in  all  those  weeks  before.  But  if  there 
was  small  pleasure  in  pleasing  her  aunt,  Ellen  did  earnestly 
wish  to  please  God ;  she  struggled  against  ill  temper,  prayed 
ftgainst  it ;  and  though  she  often  blamed  herself  in  secret,  she 


92 


THE  WIDE,  -WIDE  \NORLD. 


did  SO  go  through  that  week  as  to  call  forth  Mr.  Yan  Brunt's 
admiration,  and  even  to  stir  a  little  the  conscience  of  her  aunt. 
Mr.  Van  Brunt  comforted  her  with  the  remark  that  "  it  is 
darkest  just  before  day,"  and  so  it  proved.  Before  the  week 
was  at  an  end  Miss  Fortune  began,  as  she  expressed  it,  to 
"  take  hold  Jenny  Hitchcock  and  Jane  Huff  were  excused 
from  any  more  butter-making  ;  Nancy  was  sent  away  ;  Ellen's 
labors  were  much  lijxhtened  ;  and  the  house  was  itself  aofain. 

The  third  of  May  came.  For  the  first  time  in  near  two 
months  Ellen  found  in  the  afternoon  she  could  be  spared 
awhile ;  there  was  no  need  to  think  twice  what  she  would  do 
with  her  leisure.  Perhaps  Margery  could  tell  her  something 
of  Alice  !  Hastily  and  joyfully  she  exchanged  her  working 
frock  for  a  merino,  put  on  nice  shoes  and  stockings  and  ruffle 
again,  and  taking  her  bonnet  and  gloves  to  put  on  out  of 
doors,  away  she  ran.  Who  can  tell  how  pleasant  it  seemed, 
after  so  many  weeks,  to  be  able  to  walk  abroad  again,  and  to 
walk  to  the  mountain  !  Ellen  snuffed  the  sweet  air,  skipped 
on  the  greensward,  picked  nosegays  of  grass  and  dandelions, 
and  at  last  unable  to  contain  herself  set  off  to  run.  Fatigue 
soon  brought  this  to  a  stop  ;  then  she  walked  more  leisurely 
on,  enjoying.  It  was  a  lovely  spring  day.  Ellen's  eyes  were 
gladdened  by  it ;  she  felt  thankful  in  her  heart  that  God  had 
made  everything  so  beautiful ;  she  thought  it  was  pleasant  to 
think  he  had  made  them  ;  pleasant  to  see  in  them  everywhere 
so  much  of  the  wisdom  and  power  and  goodness  of  him  she 
looked  to  up  with  joy  as  her  best  friend.  She  felt  quietly 
happy,  and  sure  he  would  take  care  of  her.  Then  a  thought 
of  Alice  came  into  her  head ;  she  set  off  to  run  again,  and 
kept  it  up  this  time  till  she  got  to  the  old  house  and  ran 
.round  the  corner.  She  stopped  at  the  shed  door  and  went 
through  into  the  lower  kitchen. 

Why  Miss  Ellen  dear !"  exclaimed  Margery, — "  if  that 
isn't  you !  Aren't  you  come  in* the  very  nick  of  time  !  How 
do  you  do  ?  I  am  very  glad  so  see  you — uncommon  glad  to 
be  sure.  W^hat  witch  told  you  to  come  here  just  now  ?  Run 
in,  run  into  the  parlor  and  see  what  you'll  find  there." 

Has  Alice  come  back  ?"  cried  Ellen,  But  Margery  only 
laughed  and  said,  "  Run  in  !" 

Up  the  steps,  through  the  kitchen,  and  across  the  hall, 
Ellen  ran, — burst  open  the  parlor  door, — and  was  in  Alice's 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


93 


arms.  There  were  others  in  the  room  ;  but  Ellen  did  not 
seem  to  know  it,  dinging  to  her  and  holding  her  in  a  fast 
glad  embrace,  till  Alice  bade  her  look  up  and  attend  to  some- 
body else.  And  then  she  was  seized  round  the  neck  by  little 
Ellen  Chauncey ! — and  then  came  her  mother,  and  then  Miss 
Sophia.  The  two  children  were  overjoyed  to  see  each  other, 
while  their  joy  was  touching  to  see,  from  the  shade  of  sorrow 
in  the  one,  and  of  sympathy  in  the  other.  Ellen  was  scarcely 
less  glad  to  see  kind  Mrs.  Chauncey ;  Miss  Sophia's  greeting 
too  was  very  affectionate.  But  Ellen  returned  to  Alice,  and 
rested  herself  in  her  lap  with  one  arm  round  her  neck,  the 
other  hand  being  in  little  Ellen's  grasp. 

"  And  now  you  are  happy,  I  suppose  ?"  said  Miss  Sophia 
when  they  were  thus  placed. 
Very,"  said  Ellen,  smiling. 

Ah,  but  you'll  be  happier  by-and-by,"  said  Ellen 
Chauncey. 

"Hush  Ellen  !"  said  Miss  Sophia; — "what  curious  things 
children  are ! — You  didn't  expect  to  find  us  all  here,  did  you, 
Ellen  Montgomery  ?" 

"No  indeed  ma'am,"  said  Ellen,  drawing  Ahce's  cheek 
nearer  for  another  kiss. 

"  We  have  but  just  comeEllie,"  said  her  sister.  "  I  should 
not  have  been  long  in  finding  you  out.  My  child,  how  thin 
you  have  got." 

"  0  I'll  grow  fat  again  now,"  said  Ellen. 

"  How  is  Miss  Fortune  ?" 

"  0  she  is  up  again  and  well." 

"  Have  you  any  reason  to  expect  your  father  home,  Ellen  ?" 
said  Mrs.  Chauncey. 

"  Yes,  ma'am  ; — aunt  Fortune  says  perhaps  he  will  be  here 
in  a  week." 

"  Then  you  are  very  happy  in  looking  forward,  aren't  you?" 
Baid  Miss  Sophia,  not  noticing  the  cloud  that  had  come  over 
Ellen's  brow. 

Ellen  hesitated, — colored, — colored  more, — and  finally  with 
a  sudden  motion  hid  her  face  against  Alice. 
"  When  did  he  sail,  Ellie  ?"  said  Ahce  gravely. 
"  In  the  Due  d'Orleans — he  said  he  would — 
"  When  r 


94 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


"  The  fifth  of  April. — 0  I  can't  help  it !"  exclaimed  Ellen, 
failing  in  the  effort  to  control  herself;  she  clasped  Alice  as 
if  she  feared  even  then  the  separating  hand.  Alice  bent  her 
head  down  and  whispered  words  of  comfort. 

"  Mamma !"  said  little  Ellen  Chauncey  under  her  breath, 
and  looking  solemn  to  the  last  degree, — "  don't  Ellen  want 
to  see  her  father  ?" 

"  She's  afraid  that  he  may  take  her  away  where  she  will 
not  be  with  Alice  any  more  ;  and  you  know  she  has  no  mother 
to  go  to." 

"  Oh  !"  said  Ellen  with  a  very  enlightened  face  ; — "  but  he 
won't,  will  he  ?" 

*'  I  hope  not;  I  think  not." 

Cheered  again,  the  little  girl  drew  near  and  silently  took 
one  of  Ellen's  hands. 

"We  shall  not  be  parted,  EUie,"  said  Ahce, — "you  need 
not  fear.  If  your  father  takes  you  away  from  your  aunt 
Fortune,  I  think  it  will  be  only  to  give  you  to  me.  You 
need  not  fear  yet." 

"  Mamma  says  so  too,  Ellen,"  said  her  little  friend. 

This  w^as  strong  consolation.    Ellen  looked  up  and  smiled. 

"  Now  come  Avith  me,"  said  Ellen  Chauncey,  pulling  her 
hand, — *'  I  want  you  to  show  me  something  ;  let's  go  down  to 
the  garden, — come  !  exercise  is  good  for  you." 

"  No,  no,"  said  her  mother  smihng, — "  Ellen  has  had  ex- 
ercise enough  lately ;  you  mustn't  take  her  down  to  the  gar- 
den now  ;  you  would  find  nothing  there.    Come  here  !" 

A  long  whisper  followed,  which  seemed  to  satisfy  little 
Ellen  and  she  ran  out  of  the  room.  Some  time  passed  in 
pleasant  talk  and  telhng  all  that  had  happened  since  they 
had  seen  each  other ;  then  little  Ellen  came  back  and  called 
Ellen  Montgomery  to  the  glass  door,  saying  she  wanted  her 
to  look  at  something. 

"  It  is  only  a  horse  we  brought  with  us,"  said  Miss  Sophia. 
"  Ellen  thinks  it  is  a  great  beauty,  and  can't  rest  till  you  have 
seen  it." 

Ellen  went  accordingly  to  the  door.  There  to  be  sure  was 
Thomis  before  it  holding  a  pony  bridled  and  saddled.  He 
was  certainly  a  very  pretty  little  creature  ;  brown  all  over 
except  one  white  forefoot ;  his  coat  shone  it  was  so  glossy ; 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


95 


his  limbs  were  fine  ;  his  eye  gentle  and  bright ;  his  tail  long 
enough  to  please  the  children.  He  stood  as  quiet  as  a  lamb, 
whether  Thomas  held  him  or  not. 

"  0  what  a  beauty  !"  said  Ellen ; — "  what  a  lovely  little 
horse  !" 

"  Aint  he  !"  said  Ellen  Chauncey  ; — "  and  he  goes  so  beau- 
tifully besides,  and  never  starts  nor  nothing ;  and  he  is  as 
good-natured  as  a  little  dog. 

^' As  a  good-natured  little  dog,  she  means,  Ellen,"  said  Miss 
Sophia , — "  there  are  little  dogs  of  very  various  character." 

"  Well  he  looks  good-natured,"  said  Ellen.  What  a  pret- 
ty head  ! — and  what  a  beautiful  new  side-saddle,  and  all.  I 
never  saw  such  a  dear  little  horse  in  my  life.  Is  it  yours, 
Ahce  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Alice,  "  it  is  a  present  to  a  friend  of  Mr. 
Marshman's." 

"  She'll  be  a  very  happy  friend,  I  should  think,"  said  Ellen. 
That's  what  I  said,"  said  Ellen  Chauncey,  dancing  up 
and  down, — "  that's  what  I  said.  I  said  you'd  be  happier 
by-and-by,  didn't  I  ?" 

"  I  ?"  said  Ellen  coloring. 

"  Yes,  you, — you  are  the  friend  it  is  for ;  it's  for  you,  it's 
for  you !  you  are  grandpa's  friend,  aren't  you  ?"  she  repeat- 
ed, springing  upon  Ellen,  and  hugging  her  up  in  an  ecstasy 
of  delight. 

"  But  it  isn't  really  for  me,  is  it  ?"  said  Ellen,  now  looking 
almost  pale  ; — "  Oh  Alice  !  — " 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Miss  Sophia, — "  what  will  papa  say 
if  I  tell  him  you  received  his  present  so  ? — come,  hold  up 
your  head  !  Put  on  your  bonnet  and  try  him  ; — come  Ellen  ! 
let's  see  you." 

Ellen  did  not  know  whether  to  cry  or  laugh, — till  she 
mounted  the  pretty  pony  ;  that  settled  the  matter.  Not 
Ellen  Chauncey 's  unspeakable  delight  was  as  great  as  her 
own.  She  rode  slowly  up  and  down  before  the  house,  and 
once  a-going  would  not  have  known  how  to  stop  if  she  had 
not  recollected  that  the  pony  had  traveled  thirty  miles  that 
day  and  must  be  tired.  Ellen  took  not  another  turn  after 
that.  She  jumped  down,  and  begged  Thomas  to  take  the 
tenderest  care  of  him  ;  patted  his  neck  ;  ran  into  the  kitchen 
to  beg  of  Margery  a  piece  of  bread  to  give  him  from  her 


96 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


hand  ;  examined  the  new  stirrup  and  housings,  and  the  pony 
all  over  a  dozen  times  ;  and  after  watching  him  as  Thomas 
led  him  off,  till  he  was  out  of  sight,  finally  came  back  into  the 
house  with  a  face  of  marvelous  contentment.  She  tried  to 
fashion  some  message  of  thanks  for  the  kind  giver  of  the 
pony  ;  but  she  wanted  to  express  so  much  that  no  words  would 
do.  Mrs.  Chauncey  however  smiled  and  assured  her  she 
knew  exactly  what  to  say, 

"  That  pony  has  been  destined  for  you,  Ellen,"  she  said, 
**  this  year  and  more  ;  but  my  father  waited  to  have  him 
thoroughly  well  broken.  You  need,  not  be  afraid  of  him  ;  he 
is  perfectly  gentle  and  well-trained  ;  if  he  had  not  been  sure 
of  that  my  father  would  never  have  sent  him ; — though  Mr. 
John  is  making  such  a  horsewoman  of  you." 

"  I  wish  I  could  thank  him,"  said  Ellen  ; — "  but  I  don't 
know  how." 

"  What  will  you  call  him,  Ellen  ?"  said  Miss  Sophia.  "  My 
father  has  dubbed  him  '  George  Marshman  ;' — "  he  says  you 
will  like  that,  as  my  brother  is  such  a  favorite  of  yours." 

"  He  didn't  really,  did  he  ?"  said  Ellen,  looking  from  So 
phia  to  Alice.    "  I  needn't  call  him  that,  need  I  ?" 

Not  unless  you  hke,"  said  Miss  Sophia  laughing, — "you 
may  change  it ;  but  Avhat  will  you  call  him  ?" 

I  don't  know,"  said  Ellen  verygravel}^ — "he must  have 
a  name  to  be  sui  e." 

"  But  why  don't  you  call  him  that  ?"  said  Ellen  Chauncey  ; 
— "  George  is  a  very  pretty  name ; — I  like  that ;  [  should 
call  him  '  Uncle  George.' 

"01  couldn't !"  said  Ellen, — "  I  couldn't  call  him  so  ;  I 
shouldn't  like  it  at  all." 

"  George  Washington  ?"  said  Mrs.  Chauncey. 

"  No  indeed  !"  said  Ellen.    "  I  guess  I  wouldn't !" 

*'Why  is  it  too  good,  or  not  good  enough?"  said  Miss 
Sophia. 

"  Too  good !  A  great  deal  too  good  for  a  horse !  I 
;vouldn't  for  anything." 

"  How  would  Brandywine  do  then,  since  you  are  so  pa- 
triotic ?"  said  Miss  Sophia,  looking  amused. 

"  What  is  *  patriotic  ?'  "  said  Ellen. 

"  A  patriot,  Ellen,"  said  Alice  smiling, — "  is  one  who 
has  a  strong  and  true  love  for  his  country." 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


9Y 


I  don't  know  whether  I  am  patriotic,"  said  Ellen,  "  but 
I  won't  call  him  Brandywine.    Why  Miss  Sophia!" 

"  No,  I  wouldn't  either,"  said  Ellen  Chauncey  ; — it  isn't 
a  pretty  name.  Call  him  Seraphine ! — like  Miss  Angell's 
pony — that's  pretty." 

"  No  no, — '  Seraphine  !'  nonsense  !"  said  Miss  Sophia ; — 
**  call  him  Benedict  Arnold,  Ellen ;  and  then  it  will  be  a  relief 
to  your  mind  to  whip  him." 

"  Whip  him  !"  said  Ellen, — "  I  don't  want  to  whip  him,  I 
am  sure ;  and  I  should  be  afraid  to  besides." 

"  Hasn't  John  taught  you  that  lesson  yet  ?"  said  the  young 
lady  ; — "  he  is  perfect  in  it  himself.  Do  you  remember,  Alice, 
the  chastising  he  gave  that  fine  black  horse  of  ours  we 
called  the  '  Black  Prince  ?' — a  beautiful  creature  he  was, — 
more  than  a  year  ago  ? — My  conscience  !  he  frightened  me 
to  death." 

I  remember,"  said  Alice  ;  "  I  remember  I  could  not 
look  on." 

What  did  he  do  that  for  ?"  said  Ellen. 

"  What's  the  matter  Ellen  Montgomery  ?"  said  Miss 
Sophia,  laughing, — where  did  you  get  that  long  face  ?  Are 
you  thinking  of  John  or  the  horse  ?" 

Ellen's  eye  turned  to  Ahce. 

"  My  dear  Ellen,"  said  Alice  smiling,  though  she  spoke 
seriously, — it  was  necessary  ;  it  sometimes  is  necessary  to  do 
such  things.  You  do  not  suppose  John  would  do  it  cruelly 
or  unnecessarily?" 

Ellen's  face  shortened  considerably. 

"  But  what  had  the  horse  been  doing  ?" 

"  He  had  not  been  doing  anything  ;  he  would  not  do, — that 
was  the  trouble ;  he  was  as  obstinate  as  a  mule." 

"My  dear  Ellen,"  said  Alice,  *'it  was  no  such  terrible 
matter  as  Sophia's  words  have  made  you  beheve.  It  was  a 
clear  case  of  obstinacy.  The  horse  was  resolved  to  have  his 
own  way  and  not  do  what  his  rider  required  of  him ;  it  was 
necessary  that  either  the  horse  or  the  man  should  give  up ; 
and  as  John  has  no  fancy  for  giving  up,  he  carried  his  point, 
— partly  by  management,  partly,  1  confess,  by  a  judicious 
use  of  the  whip  and  spm' ;  but  there  was  no  such  furious 
flagellation  as  Sophia  seems  to  mean,  and  which  a  good 
horseman  would  scarce  be  guilty  of." 
VOL.  II.  5 


08 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


*'  A  very  determined  '  use,'  "  said  Miss  Sophia.  "  I  advise 
you,  Ellen,  not  to  trust  your  pony  with  Mr.  John  ;  he  will 
have  no  mercy  on  him." 

**  Sophia  is  laughing,  Ellen,"  said  Alice.  "  You  and  I 
know  John,  do  we  not  ?" 

Then  he  did  right  ?"  said  Ellen. 

Perfectly  right — except  in  mounting  the  horse  at  all, 
which  I  never  wished  him  to  do.  No  one  on  the  place  would 
ride  him." 

"  He  carried  John  beautifully  all  the  day  after  that  though," 
said  Miss  Sophia,  "  and  I  dare  say  he  might  have  ridden  him 
to  the  end  of  the  chapter  if  you  would  have  let  papa  give 
him  to  him.  But  he  w^as  of  no  use  to  anybody  else.  Howard 
couldn't  manage  him — I  suppose  he  was  too  lazy.  Papa  was 
delighted  enough  that  day  to  have  given  John  anything.  And 
I  can  tell  you  lilack  Prince  the  second  is  spirited  enough  ;  I 
am  afraid  you  Avont  like  him." 

**  John  has  a  present  of  a  horse  too,  Ellen,"  said  Alice. 

"Has  he? — from  Mr.  Marshman  ?" 

-  Yes." 

*'  I'm  very  glad  !  0  what  rides  Ave  can  take  now,  can't 
we,  Alice  ?  We  shan't  want  to  borrow  Jenny's  pony  any 
more.    What  kind  of  a  horse  is  Mr.  John's  ?" 

"  Black,— perfectly  black." 

"  Is  he  handsome  ?" 

"  Very." 

"  Is  his  name  Black  Prince  ?" 
«  Yes." 

Ellen  began  to  consider  the  possibility  of  calling  her  pony 
the  Brown  Princess,  or  by  some  similar  title — the  name  of 
John's  two  chargers  seeming  the  very  most  striking  a  horse 
could  be  known  by. 

Don't  forget,  Alice,"  said  Mrs.  Chauncey,  to  tell  John 
to  stop  for  him  on  his  way  home.  It  Avill  give  us  a  chance 
of  seeing  him,  Avhich  is  not  a  common  pleasure,  in  any  sense 
of  the  term." 

They  Avent  back  to  the  subject  of  the  name,  Avhich  Ellen 
pondered  with  uneasy  visions  of  John  and  her  poor  pony 
flitting  through  her  head.  The  little  horse  w^as  very  hard  to 
fit,  or  else  Ellen's  taste  was  very  hard  to  suit ;  a  great  many 
names  were  proposed,  none  of  which  were  to  her  mind. 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


99 


Charley,  and  Cherry,  and  Brow,  and  Dash,  and  Jumper, — • 
but  she  said  they  had  "  John"  and  "  Jenny"  already  in  Thirl- 
wall,  and  she  didn't  want  a  "  Charley  ;"  "  Brown"  was  not 
pretty,  and  she  hoped  he  wouldn't  "  dash"  at  anything,  nor 
be  a  "jumper"  when  she  was  on  his  back.  Cherry  she 
mused  awhile  about,  but  it  wouldn't  do. 

"  Call  him  Fairy,"  said  Ellen  Chauncey  ; — "  that's  a  pretty 
name.  Mamma  says  she  used  to  have  a  horse  called  Fairy. 
Do,  Ellen  !  call  him  Fairy." 

"  No,"  said  Ellen ;  "  he  can't  have  a  lady's  name — that's 
the  trouble." 

"  I  have  it,  Ellen  !"  said  Alice ; — "  I  have  a  name  for  you, 
—  call  him  the  Brownie." 

"  The  '  Brownie  ?'  "  said  Ellen. 

"  Yes — brownies  are  male  fairies  ;  and  brown  is  his  color  ; 
so  how  will  that  do  ?" 

It  was  soon  decided  that  it  would  do  very  well.  It  was 
simple,  descriptive,  and  not  common ;.  Ellen  made  up  her 
mind  that  '  The  Brownie'  should  be  his  name.  No  sooner 
given,  it  began  to  grow  dear.  Ellen's  face  quitted  its  look  of 
anxious  gravity  and  came  out  into  the  broadest  and  fullest 
satisfaction.  She  never  showed  joy  boisterously ;  but  there 
was  a  light  in  her  eye  which  brought  many  a  smile  into  those 
of  her  friends  as  they  sat  round  the  tea-table. 

After  tea  it  was  necessary  to  go  home,  much  to  the  sorrow 
of  all  parties.  Ellen  knew  however  it  would  not  do  to  stay  ; 
Miss  Fortune  was  but  just  got  well,  and  perhaps  already 
thinking  herself  ill-used.    She  put  on  her  things. 

"  Are  you  going  to  take  your  pony  home  with  you?"  said 
Miss  Sophia. 

"  0  no  ma'am,  not  to-night.  I  must  see  about  a  place  for 
liim ;  and  besides,  poor  fellow,  he  is  tired  I  dare  say." 

"  I  do  believe  you  would  take  more  care  of  his  legs  than  of 
your  own,"  said  Miss  Sophia. 

"  But  you'll  be  here  to-morrow  early,  Ellie  ?" 

*'  0  won't  I  !"  exclaimed  Ellen,  as  she  sprang  to  Alice's 
neck ; — '*  as  early  as  I  can,  at  least ;  I  don't  know  when  aunt 
Fortune  will  have  done  with  me." 

The  way  home  seemed  as  nothing.  Tf  she  was  tired  she 
did  not  know  it.  The  Brownie  !  the  Brownie  ! — the  thought 
of  him  carried  her  as  cleverly  over  the  ground  as  his  very 


100 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


back  would  liave  done.  She  came  running  into  the  chip- 
yard. 

Hollo !"  cried  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  who  was  standing  under 
the  apple  tree  cutting  a  piece  of  wood  for  the  tongue  of  the 
ox-cart,  which  had  been  broken, — I'm  glad  to  see  you  can 
run.  I  was  afeard  you'd  hardly  be  able  to  stand  by  this  time  ; 
but  there  you  come  like  a  young  deer !" 

"  0  Mr.  Van  Brunt,"  said  Ellen,  coming  close  up  to  him 
and  speaking  in  an  under  tone, — "  you  don't  know  what  a 
present  I  have  had  !  What  do  you  think  Mr.  Marshman  has 
sent  me  from  Ventnor?" 

*'  Couldn't  guess,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  resting  the  end  of 
his  pole  on  the  log  and  chipping  at  it  with  his  hatchet ; — 
"  never  guessed  anything  in  my  life  ; — what  is  it  ?" 

"  He  has  sent  me  the  most  beautiful  little  horse  you  ever 
saw  ! — for  my  own — for  me  to  ride  ;  and  a  new  beautiful 
saddle  and  bridle  ;  you  never  saw  anything  so  beautiful,  Mr. 
Van  Brunt ;  he  is  all  brown,  with  one  white  fore-foot,  and 
I've  named  him  the  'Brownie;'  and  O  Mr.  Van  Brunt!  do 
you  think  aunt  Fortune  will  let  him  come  here  ?" 

Mr.  Van  Brunt  chipped  away  at  his  pole,  looking  very 
good-humored. 

"  Because  you  know  I  couldn't  have  half  the  good  of  him 
if  he  had  to  stay  away  from  me  up  on  the  mountain.  I  shall 
want  to  ride  him  every  day.  Do  you  think  aunt  Fortune 
will  let  him  be  kept  here,  Mr.  Van  Brunt?" 

"  I  guess  she  will,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt  soberly,  and  his 
tone  said  to  Ellen,  "  /  will,  if  she  don't." 

"  Then  will  you  ask  her  and  see  about  it  ? — if  you  please 
Mr.  Van  Brunt !  I'd  rather  you  would.  And  you  won't 
have  him  put  to  plough  or  anything,  will  you  Mr.  Van  Brunt  ? 
Miss  Sophia  says  it  would  spoil  him." 

**  I'll  plough  myself  first,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt  with  his 
half  smile  ; — "  there  sha'n't  be  a  hair  of  his  coat  turned  the 
wrong  way.    I'll  see  to  him — as  if  he  was  a  prince." 

"  0  thank  you,  dear  Mr.  Van  Brunt !  How  good  you  are. 
Then  I  shall  not  speak  about  him  at  all  till  you  do,  remember. 
I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Van  Brunt !" 

Ellen  ran  in.  She  got  a  chiding  for  her  long  stay,  but  it 
fell  upon  ears  that  could  not  hear.  The  Brownie  came  like 
a  shield  between  her  and  all  trouble.    She  smiled  at  her 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


101 


aunt's  hard  words  as  if  they  had  been  sugar-plums.  And  her 
sleep  that  night  might  have  been  prairie  land,  for  the  multi- 
tude of  horses  of  all  sorts  that  chased  through  it. 

Have  you  heerd  the  news?"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  when 
he  had  got  his  second  cup  of  coftee  at  breakfast  next  morning. 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Fortune.    "  What  news  ?" 

"  There  aint  as  much  news  as  there  used  to  be  when  I  was 
young,"  said  the  old  lady ; — "  'seems  to  me  I  don't  hear 
nothing  now-a-days." 

"You  might,  if  you'd  keep  your  ears  open,  mother. 
What  news,  Mr.  Van  Brunt  ?" 

"  Why  here's  Pollen's  got  a  splendid  little  horse  sent  her  a 
present  from  some  of  her  great  friends, — Mr.  Marshchalk, — " 

"  Mr,  Marshman,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Mr.  Marshman.  There  aint  the  like  in  the  country,  as 
I've  heerd  tell ;  and  I  expect  next  thing  she'll  be  flying  over 
all  the  fields  and  fences  like  smoke." 

There  was  a  meaning  silence.    Ellen's  heart  beat. 

"  What's  going  to  be  done  with  him,  do  you  suppose  ?" 
said  Miss  Fortune.  Her  look  said,  "  If  you  think  I  am 
coming  round  you  are  mistaken." 

"  Humph  !"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt  slowly, — "  I  s'pose  he'll 
eat  grass  in  the  meadow, — and  there'll  be  a  place  fixed  for 
him  in  the  stables." 

"  Not  in  1711/  stables,"  said  the  lady  s]lortl3^ 

"  No, — in  mine,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt  half  smiling  ; — "  and 
I'll  settle  with  you  about  it  by  and  by, — when  we  square  our 
accounts." 

Miss  Fortune  was  very  much  vexed  ;  Ellen  could  see  that ; 
but  she  said  no  more,  good  or  bad,  about  the  matter  ;  so  the 
Brownie  was  allowed  to  take  quiet  possession  of  meadow  and 
stables  ;  to  his  mistress's  unbounded  joy. 

Anybody  that  knew  Mr.  Van  Brunt  would  have  been  sur- 
prised to  hear  what  he  said  that  morning  ;  for  he  was 
thought  to  be  quite  as  keen  a  looker  after  the  main  chance  as 
Miss  Fortune  herself,  only  somehow  it  was  never  laid  against 
him  as  it  was  against  her.  However  that  might  be,  it  was 
plain  he  took  pleasure  in  keeping  his  word  about  the  pony. 
Ellen  herself  could  not  have  asked  more  careful  kindness  for 
her  favorite  than  the  Brownie  had  from  every  man  and  boy 
about  the  farm. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 


"  Thon  must  run  to  him  for  thou  hast  stayed  so  long  that  going  will  scarce  »rve  tht 
turn." — Shakspeark. 

Captain  Montgomery  did  not  come  the  next  week,  nor  the 
week  after  ;  and  what  is  more,  the  Duck  Dorleens,  as  his  sister 
called  the  ship  in  which  he  had  taken  passage,  was  never 
heard  of  from  that  time.  She  sailed  duly  on  the  fifth  of  April, 
as  they  learnt  from  the  papers ;  but  whatever  became  of  her 
she  never  reached  port.  It  remained  a  doubt  whether  Cap- 
tain Montgomery  had  actually  gone  in  her ;  and  Ellen  had 
many  weeks  of  anxious  watching,  first  for  himself,  and  then 
for  news  of  him  in  case  he  were  still  in  France.  None  ever 
came.  Anxiety  gradually  faded  into  certainty  ;  and  by  mid- 
summer no  doubt  of  the  truth  remained  in  any  mind.  If 
Captain  Montgomery  had  been  alive,  he  would  certainly  have 
written,  if  not  before,  on  learning  the  fate  of  the  vessel  in 
which  he  had  told  his  friends  to  expect  him  home. 

Ellen  rather  felt  that  she  was  an  orphan  than  that  she  had 
lost  her  father.  She  had  never  learned  to  love  him,  he  had 
never  given  her  much  cause.  Comparatively  a  small  portion 
of  her  life  had  been  passed  in  his  society,  and  slie  looked  back  to 
it  as  the  least  agreeable  of  all ;  and  it  had  not  been  possible  for 
her  to  expect  with  pleasure  his  return  to  America  and  visit  to 
Thirl  wall ;  she  dreaded  it.  Life  had  nothing  now  worse  for  her 
than  a  separation  from  Alice  and  John  Humphreys  ;  she  fear- 
ed her  father  might  take  her  away  and  put  her  in  some 
dreadful  boarding-school,  or  carry  her  about  the  world  where- 
ever  he  went,  a  wretched  wanderer  from  everything  good  and 
pleasant.  The  knowledge  of  his  death  had  less  pain  for  her 
than  the  removal  of  this  fear  brought  relief. 

Ellen  felt  sometimes,  soberly  and  sadly,  that  she  was  thrown 
upon  the  wide  world  now.  To  all  intents  and  purposes  so 
she  had  been  a  year  and  three  quarters  before ;  but  it  was 


THE  WIDE,  "WIDE  WORLD. 


103 


something  to  Lave  a  father  and  mother  Hving  even  on  the 
other  side  of  the  world.  Now,  Miss  Fortune  was  her  sole 
guardian  and  owner.  However  slie  could  hardly  realize  that, 
with  Alice  and  John  so  near  at  hand.  Without  reasoning 
much  about  it,  she  felt  tolerably  secure  that  they  w^ould  take 
care  of  her  interests,  and  make  good  their  claim  to  interfere 
if  ever  need  were. 

Ellen  and  her  little  horse  grew  more  and  more  fond  of  each 
other.  This  friendship,  no  doubt,  was  a  comfort  to  the 
Brownie  ;  but  to  his  misti-ess  it  made  a  large  part  of  the  plea- 
sure of  her  every  day  Hfe.  To  visit  him  was  her  delight,  at  all 
hours,  early  and  late  ;  and  it  is  to  the  Brownie's  credit  that 
he  always  seemed  as  glad  to  see  her  as  she  was  to  see  him. 
At  any  time  Ellen's .  voice  would  bring  him  from  the  far  end 
of  the  meadow  where  he  was  allowed  to  run.  He  w^ould  come 
trotting  up  at  her  call,  and  stand  to  ha\  e  her  scratch  his  fore- 
head or  pat  him  and  talk  to  him ;  and  though  the  Brownie 
could  not  answer  her  speeches  he  certainly  seemed  to  hear  them 
with  pleasure.  Then  throwing  up  his  head  he  would  bound 
off,  take  a  turn  in  the  field,  and  come  back  again  to  stand  as 
still  as  a  lamb  so  long  as  she  stayed  there  herself.  Now  and 
then,  when  she  had  a  little  more  time,  she  would  cross  the  fence 
and  take  a  walk  with  him ;  and  there,  with  his  nose  just  at 
her  elbow,  wherever  she  went  the  Brownie  went  after  her. 
After  a  while  there  was  no  need  that  she  should  call  him  ;  if 
he  saw  or  heard  her  at  a  distance  it  was  enough  ;  he  would 
come  running  up  directly.    Ellen  loved  him  dearly. 

She  gave  him  more  proof  of  it  than  words  and  caresses. 
Many  were  the  apples  and  scraps  of  bread  hoarded  up  for 
him  ;  and  if  these  failed,  Ellen  sometimes  took  him  a  little  salt 
to  show  that  he  was  not  forgotten.  There  were  not  certainly 
many  scraps  left  at  Miss  Fortune's  table  ;  nor  apples  to  be 
had  at  home  for  such  a  purpose,  except  what  she  gathered  up 
from  the  poor  ones  that  were  left  under  the  trees  for  the 
hogs  ;  but  Ellen  had  other  sources  of  supply.  Once  she  had 
begged  from  Jenny  Hitchcock  a  w^aste  bit  that  she  was  going 
to  throw  away ;  Jenny  found  what  she  wanted  to  do  with  it, 
and  after  that  many  a  basket  of  apples  and  many  a  piece  of  cold 
shortcake  was  set  by  for  her.  Margery  too  remembered  the 
Brownie  when  disposing  of  her  odds  and  ends  ;  likewise  did 
Mrs.  Van  Brunt ;  so  that  among  them  all  Fllen  seldom  want- 


104 


THE   WIDE,  Vv  IDE  WORLD. 


ed  something  to  give  him.  Mr.  Marshman  did  not  know  what 
happiness  he  was  bestowing  ^\hen  he  sent  her  that  httle  horse. 
Many,  many,  were  the  hours  of  enjoyment  she  had  upon  his 
back.  Ellen  went  nowhere  but  upon  the  Brownie.  Alice 
made  her  a  riding-dress  of  dark  gingham  ;  and  it  was  the  ad- 
miration of  the  country  to  see  her  trotting  or  cantering  by, 
all  alone,  and  always  looking  happy.  Ellen  soon  found  that  if 
the  Brownie  was  to  do  her  much  good  she  must  leain  to 
saddle  and  bridle  him  herself.  This  was  very  awkward  at 
first,  but  there  was  no  help  for  it.  Mr.  Van  Brunt  showed 
her  how  to  manage,  and  after  a  while  it  became  quite  easy. 
She  used  to  call  the  Brownie  to  the  bar-place,  put  the  bridle 
on,  and  let  him  out ;  and  then  he  would  stand  motionless  be- 
fore her  Avhile  she  fastened  the  saddle  on ;  looking  round 
sometimes  as  if  to  make  sure  that  it  was  she  herself,  and  giv- 
ing a  little  kind  of  satisfied  neigh  when  he  saw  that  it  Avas. 
Ellen's  heart  began  to  dance  as  soon  as  she  felt  him  moving 
under  her ;  and  once  off  and  away  on  the  docile  and  spirited 
little  animal,  over  the  roads,  through  the  lanes,  up  and  down 
the  hills,  her  horse  her  only  companion,  but  having  the  most 
perfect  understanding  with  him,  both  Ellen  and  the  Brownie 
cast  care  to  the  winds.  "  I  do  believe,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt, 
*'  that  critter  would  a  leetle  rather  have  Ellen  on  his  back  than 
not."  He  was  the  Brownie's  next  best  friend.  Miss  Fortune 
never  said  anything  to  him  or  of  him. 

Ellen  however  reaped  a  reward  for  her  faithful  steadiness 
to  duty  Avhile  her  aunt  was  ill.  Things  were  never  after  that 
as  they  had  been  before.  She  was  looked  on  with  a  different 
eye.  To  be  sure  Miss  Fortune  tasked  her  as  much  as  ever, 
spoke  as  sharply,  was  as  ready  to  scold  if  anything  went 
wrong ; — all  that  was  just  as  it  used  to  be  ;  but  beneath  all 
that  Ellen  felt  with  great  satisfaction  that  she  was  trusted  and 
believed.  She  was  no  longer  an  interloper,  in  everybody's 
way  ;  she  was  not  watched  and  suspected  ;  her  aunt  treated 
her  as  one  of  the  family  and  a  person  to  be  depended  on.  It 
was  a  very  great  comfort  to  little  Ellen's  life.  Miss  Fortune 
even  owned  that  "  she  believed  she  was  an  honest  child  and 
meant  to  do  riglit," — a  great  deal  from  her;  Miss  Fortune 
was  never  over  forward  to  give  any  one  the  praise  of  honeaty. 
Ellen  now  went  out  and  came  in  without  feeling  she  was  an 
aUen.    And  though  her  aunt  was  always  bent  on  keeping 


THE    U*I!3i:,  WIDE  WORLD. 


105 


herself  and  everybody  else  at  work,  she  did  not  now  show 
any  particular  desire  for  breaking  off  Ellen  from  her  studies  ; 
and  was  generally  willing  Avhen  the  work  was  pretty  well 
done  UD  that  she  should  saddle  the  Brownie  and  be  off  to 
Ahce  or  Mrs.  Vawse. 

Though  Ellen  was  happy,  it  was  a  sober  kind  of  happiness  ; 
— the  sun  shining  behind  a  cloud.  And  if  others  thought  her 
so,  it  was  not  because  she  laughed  loudly  or  wore  a  merry 
face. 

"  I  can't  help  but  think,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Brunt,  "that  that 
child  has  something  miore  to  make  her  happy  than  what  she 
gets  in  this  world." 

There  was  a  quilting  party  gathered  that  afternoon  at  Mrs. 
Van  Brunt's  house. 

"  There  is  no  doubt  of  that,  neighbor,"  said  Mrs.  Vawse  ; 
"nobod}^  ever  found  enough  here  to  make  him  happy  yet." 

"  Well  T  don't  want  to  see  a  prettier  girl  than  that,"  said 
Mrs.  Lowndes  ; — "  you'll  never  catch  her,  working  at  home 
or  riding  along  on  that  handsome  httle  critter  of  her'n,  that 
she  ha'n't  a  pleasant  look  and  a  smile  for  you,  and  as  pretty 
behaved  as  can  be.  I  never  see  her  look  sorrowful  but 
once." 

"  Aint  that  a  pretty  horse  ?"  said  Mimy  Lawson. 

"  Fve  see  her  look  sorrowful  though,"  said  Sarah  Lowndes  ; 
"  I've  been  up  at  the  house  when  Miss  Fortune  was  hustling 
everybody  round,  and  as  sharp  as  vinegar,  and  you'd  think  it 
would  take  Job's  patience  to  stand  it ; — and  for  all  there 
wouldn't  be  a  bit  of  crossness  in  that  child's  face, — she'd  go 
round,  and  not  say  a  word  that  wasn't  just  so ; — you'd  ha' 
thought  her  bread  was  all  spread  w^ith  honey  ;  and  everybody 
knows  it  aint.  I  don't  see  how  she  could  do  it,  for  my  part. 
I  know  /  couldn't." 

"  Ah,  neighbor,"  said  Mrs.  Vawse,  "  Ellen  looks  higher  than 
to  please  her  aunt ;  she  tries  to  please  her  God  ;  and  one  can 
bear  people's  words  or  looks  when  one  is  pleasing  him. — She 
is  a  dear  child  ! 

"  And  there's  'Brahm,"  said  Mrs.  Van  Brunt, — "  he  thinks 
the  hull  w^orld  of  her.  I  never  see  him  take  so  to  any  one. 
There  aint  an  airthly  thing  he  wouldn't  do  to  please  her.  If 
she  was  his  own  child  I've  no  idee  he  could  set  her  up  more 
tlian  he  does." 

5* 


106 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


"  Very  well !"  said  Xancy  coming  up, — good  reason  ! 
Ellen  don't  set  him  up  any,  does  she  ?  I  wish  you'd  just 
seen  her  once,  the  time  when  Miss  Fortune  was  abed, — the 
way  she'd  look  out  for  him!  Mr.  Van  Brunt's  as  good  as  at 
home  in  that  house  sure  enough  ;  whoever's  down  stairs." 
Bless  her  dear  little  heart !"  said  his  mother. 

"  A  good  name  is  better  than  precious  ointment." 

August  had  come,  and  John  was  daily  expected  home. 
One  morning  Miss  Fortune  was  in  the  lower  kitchen,  up  to 
the  elbows  in  making  a  rich  fall  cheese  ;  Ellen  was  busy 
up-stairs,  when  her  aunt  shouted  to  her  tt  "come  and  see 
what  was  all  that  splashing  and  crashing  in  the  garden." 
^  Ellen  ran  out. 

"  0  aunt  Fortune,"  said  she, — "Timothy  has  broken  down 
the  fence  and  got  in." 

"  Timothy  !"  said  Miss  Fortune, — "  what  Timothy  ?" 

"  Why  Timothy,  the  near  ox,"  said  Ellen  laughing; — "he 
has  knocked  down  the  fence  over  there  where  it  was  low, 
you  know." 

"  The  near  ox  !"  said  Miss  Fortune, — "  I  wish  he  warn't  quite 
so  near  this  time.  Mercy  !  he'll  be  at  the  corn  and  over 
everything.  Run  and  drive  him  into  the  barn-yard,  can't 
you?" 

But  Ellen  stood  still  and  shook  her  head.  "  He  wouldn't 
stir  for  me,"  she  said; — "and  besides  I  am  as  afraid  of  that 
ox  as  can  be.    If  it  was  Clover  I  wouldn't  mind." 

"  But  he'll  have  every  bit  of  the  corn  eaten  up  in  five 
minutes  !    Where's  Mr.  Van  Brunt  ?" 

"  I  heard  him  say  he  was  going  home  till  noon,"  said 
Ellen. 

"And  Sam  Larkens  is  gone  to  mill — and  Johnny  Low  is 
laid  up  with  the  shakes.  Very  careless  of  Mr.  Van  Brunt !" 
said  Miss  Fortune,  drawing  her  arms  out  of  the  cheese-tub 
wringing  off  the  whey, — "  i  wish  he'd  mind  his  own  oxen. 
There  was  no  business  to  be  a  low  place  in  the  fence !  Well 
come  along  !  you  aint  afraid  with  me,  I  suppose." 

Ellen  followed,  at  a  respectful  distance.  Miss  Fortune 
however  feared  the  face  of  neither  man  nor  beast ;  she  pulled 
up  a  bean  pole,  and  made  such  a  show  of  fight  that  Timothy 
after  looking  at  her  a  little,  fairly  turned  tail,  and  marched  out 
at  the  breach  he  had  made-     Miss  Fortune  went  after,  and 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


107 


rested  not  till  she  had  driven  him  quite  into  the  meadow ; — 
get  him  into  the  barn-yard  she  could  not. 

You  aint  worth  a  straw,  Ellen  !"  said  she  when  she  came 
back ; — "  couldn't  you  ha'  headed  him  and  driv'  him  into  the 
barn-yard  ?  Now  that  plaguy  beast  will  just  be  back  again  by 
the  time  I  get  well  to  work.  He  ha'n't  done  much  mischief 
3'et — there's  Mr,  Van  Brunt's  salary  he's^made  a  pretty  mess 
of ;  Pm  glad  on't !  He  should  ha'  put  potatoes,  as  I  told  him. 
I  don't  know  what's  to  be  done — I  can't  be  leaving  my  cheese 
to  run  and  mind  the  garden  every  minute,  if  it  Avas  full  of 
Timothys  ;  and  youd  be  scared  if  a  mosqueto  flew  at  you ; — 
you  had  better  go  right  off  for  Mr.  Van  Brunt  and  fetch  him 
straiofht  home — serve  him  rioht !  he  has  no  business  to  leave 
things  so.  Run  along, — and  don't  let  the  grass  grow  under 
your  feet ! 

Ellen  wisely  thought  her  pony's  feet  would  do  the  business 
quicker,  Slie  ran  and  put  on  her  gingham  dress  and  saddled 
and  bridled  the  Brownie  in  three  minutes  ;  but  before  setting 
off  she  had  to  scream  to  her  aunt  that  Timothy  was  just 
coming  round  the  corner  of  the  barn  again  ;  and  Miss  For- 
tune rushed  out  to  the  garden  as  Ellen  and  the  Brownie 
walked  down  to  the  gate. 

The  weather  was  fine,  and  Ellen  thought  with  herself  it 
was  an  ill  wind  that  blew  no  good.  She  was  getting  a  nice 
ride  in  the  early  morning,  that  she  would  not  have  had  but 
for  Timothy's  lawless  behavior.  'Jo  ride  at  that  time  was  par- 
ticularly pleasant  and  rare  ;  and  forgetting  how  she  had  left 
poor  Miss  Fortune  between  the  ox  and  the  cheesetub,  Ellen 
and  the  Brownie  cantered  on  in  excellent  spirits. 

She  looked  in  vain  as  she  passed  his  grounds  to  see  Mr. 
Van  Brunt  in  the  garden  or  about  the  barn.  She  went  on 
to  the  little  gate  of  the  courtyard,  dismounted,  and  led  the 
Brownie  in.  Here  she  was  met  by  Nancy  who  came  running 
from  the  way  of  the  barn-yard. 

"How  d'ye  do  Nancy?"  said  Ellen; — where's  Mr.  Van 
Brunt?" 

*'  Goodness  !  Ellen  ! — what  do  you  want?" 
"  I  want  Mr.  Van  Brunt, — where  is  he  ?" 
"  Mr.  Van  Brunt ! — he's  out  in  the  barn, — but  he's  used 
himself  up." 

"  Used  himself  up  !  vrhat  do  you  mean  ?'' 


108 


Tlir:    WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


"  Why  he's  fixed  liimself  in  fine  style  ; — he's  fell  through 
the  trap-door  and  broke  his  leg." 

"  0  Nancy  !"  screamed  Ellen, — "  he  hasn't !  How  could 
he  ?" 

"  Why  easy  enough  if  he  didn't  look  where  he  was  going, 
— there's  so  much  hay  on  the  floor.  But  it's  a  pretty  bad 
place  to  fall." 

"  How  do  you  known  his  leg  is  broken  ?" 

"  'Cause  he  says  so,  and  anybody  with  eyes  can  see  it 
must  be.  I'm  going  over  to  Hitchcock's  to  get  somebody  to 
come  and  help  in  with  him ;  for  you  know  me  and  Mrs.  Van 
Brunt  aint  Samsons." 

"  Where  is  Mrs.  Van  Brunt  ?" 

"  She's  out  there — in  a  terrible  to  do." 

Nancy  sped  on  to  the  Hitchcock's ;  and  greatly  frightened 
and  distressed  Ellen  ran  over  to  the  barn,  trembling  like  an 
aspen.  Mr.  Van  Brunt  was  lying  in  the  lower  floor,  just 
where  he  had  fallen  ;  one  leg  doubled  under  him  in  such  a 
way  as  left  no  doubt  it  must  be  broken.  He  had  lain  there 
some  time  before  any  one  found  him ;  and  on  trying  to 
change  his  position  when  he  saw  his  mother's  distress,  he  had 
fainted  from  pain.  She  sat  by  weeping  most  bitterly.  Ellen 
could  bear  but  one  look  at  Mr.  Van  Brunt ;  that  one  sickened 
her.  She  went  up  to  his  poor  mother  and  getting  down  on 
her  knees  by  her  side  put  botli  arms  round  her  neck. 

"  Dont  cry  so,  dear  Mrs.  Van  Brunt,"  (Ellen  was  crying 
so  she  could  hardly  speak  herself,) — pray  don't  do  so  ! — 
he'll  be  better — Oh  what  shall  we  do  ?" 

Oh  aint  it  dreadful !"  said  poor  Mrs.  Van  Brunt ; — "  0 
'Brahm,  'Brahm !  my  son ! — the  best  son  that  ever  Avas  to 
me — O  to  see  him  there — aint  it  dreadful?  he's  dying!" 

"  0  no  he  isn't,"  said  Ellen, — "  0  no  he  isn't ! — what  shall 
we  do,  Mrs.  Van  Brunt  ?— what  shall  we  do  ?" 

"  The  doctor  !"  said  Mrs.  Van  Brunt, — "  he  said  '  send  for 
the  doctor ;' — but  I  can't  go,  and  there's  nobody  to  send. 
O  he'll  die  ! — 0  my  dear  'Brahm  !  I  wish  it  was  me  !" 

"  What  doctor  ?"  said  Ellen  ; — "  I'll  find  somebody  to  go ; 
what  doctor  ?" 

"  Dr.  Gibson,  he  said ;  but  he's  away  off"  to  Thirlwall ;  and 
he's  been  lying  here  all  the  moraing  already  I — nobody  found 
him — h«  couldn't  make  us  hear.    0  isn't  it  dreadful !" 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


109 


**  0  don't  cry  so,  dear  Mrs.  Van  Brunt,"  said  Ellen,  press- 
ing her  cheek  to  the  poor  old  lady's  ; — "  he'll  be  better — he 
will !  I've  got  the  Brownie  here  and  I'll  ride  over  to  Mrs. 
Hitchcock's  and  get  somebody  to  go  right  away  for  the  doc- 
tor. I  won't  be  long, — we'll  have  him  here  in  a  little  while ! 
dorit  feel  so  bad  !" 

"  You're  a  dear  blessed  darling  !"  said  the  old  lady,  hug- 
ging and  kissing  her, — "  if  ever  there  was  one.  Make  haste 
dear,  if  you  love  him  ! — he  loves  you." 

Ellen  stayed  but  to  give  her  another  kiss.  Trembling  so  that 
she  could  hardly  stand  she  made  her  way  back  to  the  house, 
led  out  the  Brownie  again,  and  set  off  full  speed  for  Mrs. 
Hitchcock's.  It  was  well  her  pony  was  sure-footed,  for 
letting  the  reins  hang,  Ellen  bent  over  his  neck  crying  bitterly, 
only  urging  him  now  and  then  to  greater  speed  ;  till  at  length 
the  feeling  that  she  had  something  to  do  came  to  her  help. 
She  straightened  herself,  gathered  up  her  reins,  and  by  the 
time  she  reached  Mrs.  Hitchcock's  was  looking  calm  again, 
though  very  sad  and  very  earnest.  She  did  not  alight,  but 
stopped  before  the  door  and  called  Jenny.  Jenny  came  out 
expressing  her  pleasure. 

*'  Dear  Jenny,"  said  Ellen, — "  isn't  there  somebody  here 
that  will  go  right  off  to  Thirlwaii  for  Dr.  Gibson  ?  Mr.  Van 
Brunt  has  broken  his  leg,  I  am  afraid,  and  wants  the  doctor 
directly." 

"  Why  dear  Ellen,"  said  Jenny,  "  the  men  have  just  gone 
off  this  minute  to  Mrs.  Van  Brunt's.  Nancy  was  here  for 
them  to  come  and  help  move  him  in  a  great  hurry.  How 
did  it  happen  ?    I  couldn't  get  anything  out  of  Nancy." 

"  He  fell  down  through  the  trap-door.  But  dear  Jenny, 
isn't  there  anybody  about  ?  0,"  said  Ellen  clasping  her 
hands, — "  I  want  somebody  to  go  for  the  doctor  so  much  !" 

There  aint  a  living  soul !"  said  Jenny  ;  "  two  of  the  men 
and  all  the  teams  are  'way  on  the  other  side  of  the  hill 
ploughing,  and  Pa  and  June  and  Black  Bill  have  gone  over, 
as  I  told  you ;  but  I  don't  beheve  they'll  be  enough. 
Where's  his  leg  broke  ?" 

"  I  didn't  meet  them,"  said  Ellen  ; — "  I  came  away  only  a 
little  while  after  Nancy." 

"  They  went  'cross  lots  I  guess, — that's  how  it  was ;  and 
that's  the  way  Nancy  got  the  start  of  you." 


no 


THK   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD, 


"  What,  sliall  I  do  ?"  said  Ellen.  She  could  not  bear  to 
wait  till  they  returned  ;  if  she  rode  back  she  might  miss  them 
again,  besides  the  delay  ;  and  then  a  man  on  foot  would 
make  a  long  journey  of  it.  Jenny  told  her  of  a  house  or  two 
wiiere  she  might  try  for  a  messenger ;  but  they  were  stran- 
gers to  her  ;  she  could  not  make  up  her  mind  to  ask  such  a 
favor  of  them.    Her  friends  were  too  far  ovit  of  the  way. 

"I'll  go  myself!"  she  said  suddenly.  "'Jell  'em,  dear 
Jenny,  will  you,  that  I  have  gone  for  Dr.  Gibson  and 
that  I'll  bring  him  back  as  quick  as  ever  I  can.  I  know  the 
road  to  Thirl  wall." 

"  But  Ellen  !  you  mustn't,''  said  Jenny  ; — "  I  am- afraid  to 
have  you  go  all  that  way  alone.  Wait  till  the  men  come 
back, — they  won't  be  long." 

"  No  I  can't,  Jenny,"  said  Ellen, — "  I  can't  wait ;  I  must 
go.  You  needn't  be  afraid.  Tell  'em  I'll  be  as  quick  as  I 
can." 

"  But  see,  Ellen  !"  cried  Jenny  as  she  was  moving  off, — - 
"  I  don't  like  to  have  you  !" 
"  I  must  Jenny.    Never  mind." 

"  But  see,  Ellen  !"  cried  Jenny  again, — "  if  you  will  go  — 
if  you  don't  find  Dr.  Gibson  just  get  Dr.  Marshchalk, — he's 
every  bit  as  good  and  some  folks  think  he's  better ; — he'll  do 
just  as  well.    Good-bye  !" 

Ellen  nodded  and  rode  off.  There  was  a  little  fluttering  of 
the  heart  at  taking  so  much  upon  herself ;  she  had  never 
been  to  Thirlwall  but  once  since  the  first  time  she  saw  it. 
But  she  thought  of  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  suffering  for  help  which 
could  not  be  obtained,  and  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  hesi- 
tate. "  I  am  sure  I  am  doing  right,"  she  thought, — "  and 
what  is  there  to  be  afraid  of  ?  If  J  ride  two  miles  alone,  why 
shouldn't  I  four  ? — And  I  am  doing  right — God  will  take 
care  of  me."  Ellen  earnestly  asked  him  to  do  so  ;  and  after 
that  she  felt  pretty  easy.  *'  Now  dear  Brownie,"  said  she 
patting  his  neck, — "  you  and  I  have  work  to  do  to-day ; 
behave  like  a  good  little  horse  as  you  are."  The  Brownie 
answered  with  a  little  cheerful  kind  of  neigh,  as  much  as  to 
say.  Never  fear  me  ! — They  trotted  on  nicely. 

But  nothing  could  help  that's  being  a  disagreeable  ride. 
Do  what  she  would,  Ellen  felt  a  little  afraid  w^hen  she  found 
herself  on  a  long  piec  ?  of  road  where  she  had  never  been 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


Ill 


alone  before.  There  were  not  many  houses  on  the  way  ;  the 
few  there  were  looked  strange  ;  Ellen  did  not  know  exactly 
where  she  was,  or  how  near  the  end  of  her  journey ;  il 
seemed  a  long  one.  She  felt  rather  lonely  ; — a  little  shy 
of  meeting  people,  and  yet  a  little  unwilling  to  have  the 
intervals  between  them  so  very  long.  She  repeated  to  her- 
self, "  I  am  doing  right — God  will  take  care  of  me," — still  there 
was  a  nervous  trembling  at  heart.  Sometimes  she  would  pat 
her  pony's  neck  and  say,  "  Trot  on  dear  Brownie  !  we'll  soon 
be  there!" — by  way  of  cheering  herself;  for  certainly  the 
Brownie  needed  no  cheering,  and  was  trotting  on  bravely. 
Then  the  thought  of  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  as  she  had  seen  him 
lying  on  the  barn  floor,  made  her  feel  sick  and  miserable  ; 
many  tears  fell  during  her  ride  when  she  remembered  him. 
*'  Heaven  will  be  a  good  place,"  thought  little  Ellen  as  she 
went ; — "  there  will  be  no  sickness,  no  pain,  no  sorrow  ;  but 
Mr.  Van  Brunt! — I  wonder  if  he  is  fit  to  go  to  heaven?" — ■ 
This  was  a  new  matter  of  thought  and  uneasiness,  not  now 
for  the  first  time  in  Ellen's  mind ;  and  so  the  time  passed  till 
she  crossed  the  bridge  over  the  little  river  and  saw  the 
houses  of  Thirlwall  stretching  away  in  the  distance.  Then 
she  felt  comfortable. 

Long  before,  she  had  bethought  her  that  she  did  not  know 
where  to  find  Dr.  Gibson,  and  had  forgotten  to  ask  Jenny. 
For  one  instant  Ellen  drew  bridle,  but  it  was  too  far  to  go 
back,  and  she  recollected  anybody  could  tell  her  where  the 
doctor  lived.  When  she  got  to  Thirlwall  however  Ellen  found 
that  she  did  not  like  to  ask  anyhody  ;  she  remembered  her 
old  friend  Mrs.  Forbes  of  the  Star  inn,  and  resolved  she 
would  go  there  in  the  first  place.  She  rode  slowly  up  the  street, 
looking  carefully  till  she  came  to  the  house.  There  was  no  mis- 
taking it ;  there  was  the  very  same  big  star  over  the  front  door 
that  had  caught  her  eye  from  the  coach-window,  and  there  was 
the  very  same  boy  or  man,  Sam,  lounging  on  the  sidewalk. 
Ellen  reined  up  and  asked  him  to  ask  Mrs.  Forbes  if  she 
would  be  so  good  as  to  come  out  to  her  for  one  minute.  Sam 
gave  her  a  long  Yankee  look  and  disappeared,  coming  back 
again  directly  with  the  landlady. 

"  How  d';ye  do,  Mrs.  Forbes?"  said  Ellen,  holding  out  hei 
hand  ; — "  don't  you  know  me  ?    I  am  Ellen  Montgomery — ■ 


112 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


that  you  were  so  kind  to,  and  gave  me  bread  and  milk, — • 
when  I  first  came  here, — Miss  Fortune's — " 

"  0  bless  your  dear  little  heart,"  cried  the  landlady  ;  "  don't 
I  know  you !  and  aint  I  glad  to  see  you  !  I  must  have  a  kiss. 
Bless  you !  I  couldn't  mistake  you  in  Jerusalem,  but  the  sun 
was  in  my  eyes  in  that  way  I  was  a'most  blind.  But  aint 
you  grown  though  !  Forget  you  ?  I  guess  I  ha'n't !  there's 
one  o'  your  friends  wouldn't  let  me  do  that  in  a  hurry ;  if  I  ha'n't 
seen  you  I've  heerd  on  you.  But  what  are  you  sitting  there 
m  the  sun  for  ?  come  in — come  in— and  I'll  give  you  something 
better  than  bread  and  milk  this  time.    Come  !  jump  down." 

"01  can't,  Mrs.  Forbes,"  said  Ellen, — "  1  am  in  a  great 
hurry  ; — Mr.  Van  Brunt  has  broken  his  leg,  and  I  want  to 
find  the  doctor." 

"  Mr.  Van  Brunt !"  cried  the  landlady.  "  Broken  his  leg  ! 
The  land's  sakes  !  how  did  he  do  that  ?  he  too  !" 

"  He  fell  down  through  the  trap-door  in  the  barn  ;  and  I 
want  to  get  Dr.  Gibson  as  soon  as  I  can  to  come  to  him. 
Where  does  he  live,  Mrs.  Forbes  ?" 

"  Dr.  Gibson  ?  you  won't  catch  him  to  hum,  dear ;  he's 
flying  round  somewheres.  But  how  come  the  trap-door  to 
be  open  ?  and  how  happened  Mr.  Van  Brunt  not  to  see  it  afore 
he  put  his  foot  in  it  ?  bear !  J  declare  I'm  real  sorry  to  hear 
you  tell.    How  happened  it,  darlin' ?    I'm  cur'ous  to  hear." 

"  I  don't  know,  Mrs  Forbes,"  said  Ellen, — "  but  oh  where 
shall  I  find  Dr.  Gibson  ?  Do  tell  me !— he  ought  to  be  there 
now  ; — oh  help  me  !  where  shall  1  go  for  him  ?" 

Well,  I  declare,"  said  the  landlady,  stepping  back  a  pace, 
— "I  don'  know  as  I  can  tell — there  aint  no  sort  o'  likelihood 
that  he's  to  hum  at  this  time  o'  day — Sam  !  you  lazy  feller, 
you  ha'n't  got  nothing  to  do  but  to  gape  at  folks,  ha'  you 
seen  the  doctor  go  by  this  forenoon  ?" 

"  I  seen  him  go  down  to  Miss'  Perriman's,"  said  Sam, — ■ 
Miss'  Perriman  was  a  dyin' — JimBarstow  said." 

"How  long  since?"  said  his  mistress. 

But  Sam  shuffled  and  shuffled,  looked  every  way  but  at 
Ellen  or  Mrs.  Forbes,  and  "  didn'  know." 

"  Well  then,"  said  Mrs.  Forbes,  turning  to  Ellen, — "  I  don* 
know  but  you  might  about  as  well  go  down  to  the  post-office 
—  but  if  1  was  you,  I'd  just  get  Dr.  Marshchalk  instead  !  he's 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  W^ORLD. 


113 


a  smarter  man  than  Dr.  Gibson  any  day  in  the  year;  and  he 
aint  quite  so  awful  high  neither,  and  that's  something.  I'd 
get  Dr.  Marshchalk  ;  tliey  say  there  aint  the  hke  o'  him  in  the 
country  for  settin'  bones  ;  it's  quite  a  gift ; — he  takes  to  it 
natural  like." 

But  Ellen  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt  wanted  Dr.  Gibson,  and  if 
she  could  she  must  find  him. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Forbes,  "everyone  has  their  fancies  ; 
— /  wouldn't  let  Dr.  Gibson  come  near  me  with  a  pair  of 
tongs  ; — but  anyhow  if  you  must  have  him,  your  best  way  is 
to  go  right  straight  down  to  the  post-office  and  ask  for  him 
there, — maybe  you'll  catch  him." 

"  Thank  you,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen ; — "  where  is  the  post- 
office  ?" 

"  it's  that  whitefaced  house  down  street,"  said  the  land- 
lady, pointing  with  her  finger  where  Ellen  saw  no  lack  of 
whitefaced  houses, — "  you  see  that  big  red  store  with  the 
man  standing  out  in  front  ? — the  next  white  house  below  that 
is  Miss'  Perriman's  ;  just  run  right  in  and  ask  for  Dr.  Gibson. 
Good  bye,  dear, — I'm  real  sorry  you  can't  come  in ; — that 
first  white  house." 

Glad  to  get  free,  Ellen  rode  smartly  down  to  the  post- 
office.  Nobody  before  the  door ;  there  was  nothing  for  it 
but  to  get  off  here  and  go  in  ;  she  did  not  know  the  people 
eithor.  "  Never  mind  !  wait  for  me  a  minute,  dear  Brownie, 
like  a  good  little  horse  as  you  are  !" 

No  fear  of  the  Brownie.  He  stood  as  if  he  did  not  mean 
to  budge  again  in  a  century.  At  first  going  in  Ellen  saw  no- 
body in  the  post-office  ;  presently,  at  an  opening  in  a  kind  of 
boxed  up  place  in  one  corner  a  face  looked  out  and  asked 
what  she  wanted. 

"  Is  Dr.  Gibson  here  ?" 

"  No,"  said  the  owner  of  the  face,  with  a  disagreeable  kind 
of  smile. 

"  Isn't  this  Miss  Perriman's  house  ?" 

"  You  are  in  the  right  box,  my  dear,  and  no  mistake,"  said 
the  young  man, — "  but  then  it  aint  Dr.  Gibson's  house,  you 
know." 

"  Can  you  tell  me,  sir,  where  I  can  find  him  ?" 

"Can't  indeed— the  doctor  never  tells  me  where  he  is 


114 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


going,  and  I  never  ask  him.  I  am  sorry  I  didn't  this  mora- 
ing,  for  your  sake." 

The  way,  and  the  look,  made  the  words  extremely  disa- 
greeable, and  furthermore  Ellen  had  an  uncomfortable  feehng 
that  neither  w^as  new  to  her.  Where  had  she  seen  the  man 
before  ?  she  puzzled  herself  to  think.  Where  but  in  a  dream 
had  she  seen  that  bold  ill-favored  face,  that  horrible  smile, 
that  sandy  hair, — she  knew !  It  was  Mr.  Saunders,  the  man 
who  had  sold  her  the  merino  at  St.  Clair  and  Fleury's.  She 
knew  him ;  and  she  was  verry  sorry  to  see  that  he  knew  her. 
All  she  desired  now  was  to  get  out  of  the  house  and  away  ; 
but  on  turning  she  saw  another  man,  older  and  respectable- 
looking,  whose  face  encouraged  her  to  ask  again  if  Dr.  Gib- 
son was  there.  He  was  not,  the  man  said  ;  he  had  been  there 
and  gone. 

"  Do  you  know  where  I  should  be  likely  to  find  him, 
sir?" 

"  i^o  T  don't,"  said  he  ; — "  who  wants  him  ?" 

"  I  wan't  to  see  him,  sir." 
For  yourself  ?" 

"No  sir;  Mr.  Van  Brunt  has  broken  his  leg  and  w^ants 
Dr.  Gibson  to  come  directly  and  set  it." 

"  Mr.  Van  Brunt !"  said  he, — "  Farmer  Van  Brunt  that 
lives  down  towards  the  Cat's  back  ?  I'm  very  sorry !  How 
did  it  happen  ?" 

Ellen  told  as  shortly  as  possible,  and  again  begged  to 
know  where  she  might  look  for  Dr.  Gibson. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  the  best  plan  I  can  think  of  will  be 
for  you — How  did  you  come  here  ?" 

*'  I  came  on  horseback,  sir." 
Ah — well — the  best  pl;in  will  be  for  you  to  ride  up  to 
his  house ;  maybe  he'll  have  left  word  there,  and  anyhow 
you  can  leave  word  for  him  to  come  down  as  soon  as  he  gets 
home.    Do  you  know  where  the  doctor  lives  ?" 
No  sir." 

"Come  here,"  said  he  pulling  her  to  the  door, — "you 
can't  see  it  from  here ;  but  you  must  ride  up  street  till  you 
have  passed  two  churches  ;  one  on  the  right  hand  first,  and 
then  a  good  piece  beyond  you'll  come  to  another  red  brick 
one  on  the  left  hand  ; — and  Dr  Gibson  lives  in  the  next  block 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


115 


but  one  after  that,  on  the  other  side  ; — anybody  will  tell  you 
the  house.    Is  that  your  horse  ?" 

"  Yes  sir.    I'm  very  much  obliged  to  you." 

"  Well  I  will  say ! — if  you  ha'n't  the  prettiest  fit  out  in 
Thirlwall — shall  I  help  you?  will  you  have  a  cheer?" 

"  No  I  thank  you  sir ;  I'll  bring  him  up  to  this  step  ;  it 
will  do  just  as  well.    I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  sir." 

He  did  not  seem  to  hear  her  thanks  ;  he  was  all  eyes ;  and 
with  his  clerk  stood  looking  after  her  till  she  was  out  of 
sight. 

Poor  Ellen  found  it  a  long  way  up  to  the  doctor's.  The 
post-office  was  near  the  lower  end  of  the  town  and  the  doc- 
tor's house  was  near  the  upper  ;  she  passed  one  church,  and 
then  the  other,  but  there  was  a  long  distance  between,  or 
what  she  thought  so.  Happily  the  Brownie  did  not  seem 
tired  at  all ;  his  little  mistress  was  tired,  and  disheartened 
too.  And  there,  all  this  time,  was  poor  Mr.  Van  Brunt  lying 
without  a  doctor  !    She  could  not  bear  to  think  of  it. 

She  jumped  down  when  she  came  to  the  block  she  had 
been  told  of,  and  easily  found  the  house  where  Dr.  Gibson 
lived.  She  knocked  at  the  door.  A  grey-haired  Avoman 
with  a  very  dead-and-alive  face  presented  herself.  Ellen 
asked  for  the  doctor. 

"  He  aint  to  hum." 

"  When  will  he  be  at  home  ?" 

"  Couldn't  say." 

"  Before  dinner  ?" 

The  woman  shook  her  head. — "  Guess  not  till  late  m  the 
day." 

"  Where  is  he  gone  ?" 

"  He  is  gone  to  Babcock — gone  to  '  attend  a  consumma- 
tion,' I  guess  he  told  me — Babcock  is  a  considerable  long 
way." 

Ellen  thought  a  minute. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  where  Dr.  Marshchalk  lives  ?" 
I  guess  you'd  better  wait  till  Dr.  Gibson  comes  back, 
ha'n't  you?"  said  the  woman  coaxingly  ; — "he'll  be  along 
by-and-by.    If  you'll  leave  me  your  name  I'll  give  it  to  him." 

"  I  cannot  wait,"  said  Ellen, — "  I  am  in  a  dreadful  hurry. 
Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  tell  me  where  Dr.  Marshchalk 
_ives  ?" 


il6 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


"  Well — if  so  be  you're  in  such  a  takin  you  can't  wait — • 
you  know  where  Miss  Forbes  lives?" 
"  At  the  inn  ? — the  Star? — yes." 

*'  He  lives  a  few  doors  this  side  o'  her'n ;  you'll  know  it 
the  first  minute  you  set  your  eyes  on  it — it's  painted  a  bright 
yaller." 

Ellen  thanked  her,  once  more  mounted,  and  rode  down  the 
street. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 


And  he  had  ridden  o'er  dale  and  down 

By  eight  o'clock  in  the  day, 
When  he  was  ware  of  a  bold  Tanner, 

Came  riding  along  the  way. 

Old  Ballad. 

The  yellow  door,  as  the  old  woman  had  said,  was  not  to 
be  mistaken.  Again  Ellen  dismounted  and  knocked ;  then 
she  heard  a  slow  step  coming  along  the  entry,  and  the  plea- 
sant kind  face  of  Miss  Janet  appeared  at  the  open  door.  It 
was  a  real  refreshment,  and  Ellen  wanted  one. 

"  Why  it's  dear  little — aint  it  ? — her  that  lives  down  to 
Miss  Fortune  Emerson's  ? — yes,  it  is  ; — come  in  dear  ;  I'm 
very  glad  to  see  you.    How's  all  at  your  house  ?" 

"  Is  the  doctor  at  home,  ma'am?" 

"  No  dear,  he  aint  to  home  just  this  minute,  but  he'll  be  in 
directly.  Come  in  ; — is  that  your  horse  ? — ^just  kitch  him  to 
the  post  there  so  he  won't  run  away,  and  come  right  in. 
Who  did  you  come  along  with  ?" 

"  Nobody  ma'am ;  I  came  alone,"  said  Ellen  while  she 
obeyed  Miss  Janet's  directions. 

Alone  ! — on  that  'ere  little  skittish  creeter  ? — he's  as 
handsome  as  a  picture  too — why  do  tell  if  you  warn't  afraid  ? 
it  a'most  scares  me  to  think  of  it." 

*'I  was  a  Uttle  afraid,"  said  Ellen,  as  she  followed  Miss 
Janet  along  the  entry, — *'but  I  couldn't  help  that.  You 
think  the  doctor  will  soon  be  in,  ma'am  ?" 

"  Yes  dear,  sure  of  it,"  said  IVIiss  Janet,  kissing  Ellen  and 
taking  off  her  bonnet ; — "  he  won't  be  nve  minutes,  for  it's 
a'most  dinner  time.  What's  the  matter  dear  ?  is  Miss  For- 
tune sick  again  ?" 

"  No  ma'am,"  said  Ellen  sadly, — "  Mr.  Van  Brunt  has 
fallen  through  the  trap-door  in  the  barn  and  broken  his  leg." 


118 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


"  Oh !"  cried  the  old  lady  with  a  face  of  real  horror, — ■ 
**  you  don't  tell  me  !  Fell  through  the  trap-door  !  and  he 
aint  a  light  weight  neither  ; — oh  that  is  a  lamentable  event ! 
And  how  is  the  poor  old  mother,  dear  ?" 

"  She  is  very  mucli  troubled,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen,  crying  at 
the  remembrance  ; — ".and  he  has  been  lying  ever  since  early 
this  morning  without  anybody  to  set  it ;  I  have  been  going 
round  and  round  for  a  doctor  this  ever  so  long." 

"  Why  warn't  there  nobody  to  come  but  you,  you  poor 
lamb  ?"  said  Miss  Janet. 

*'  No  ma'am ;  nobody  quick  enough ;  and  I  had  the 
Brownie  there,  and  so  I  came." 

"  Well  cheer  up,  dear !  the  doctor  will  be  here  now  and 
we'll  send  him  right  off ;  he  won't  be  long  about  his  dinner, 
I'll  engage.  Come  and  set  in  this  big  cheer — do  ! — it'll  rest 
you ;  1  see  you're  a'most  tired  out,  and  it  aint  a  wonder. 
There — don't  that  feel  better  ?  now  I'll  give  you  a  little  sup 
of  dinner,  for  you  won't  want  to  swallow  it  at  the  rate  Lean- 
der  will  his'n.  Dear  !  dear  ! — to  think  of  poor  Mr.  Van 
Brunt.  He's  a  likely  man  too  ; — I'm  very  sorry  for  him  and 
his  poor  mother.  A  kind  body  she  is  as  ever  the  sun  shined 
upon." 

"  And  so  is  he,"  said  Ellen. 

*' Well  so  I  dare  say,"  said  Miss  Janet,  —  "but  I  don't 
know  so  much  about  him ;  howsever  he's  got  everybody's 
good  word  as  far  as  I  know; — he's  a  likely  man." 

The  little  room  into  which  Miss  Janet  had  brought  Ellen 
was  very  plainly  furnished  indeed,  but  as  neat  as  hands  could 
make  it.  The  carpet  was  as  crumbless  and  lintless  as  if  meals 
were  never  taken  there  nor  work  seen ;  and  yet  a  little  table 
ready  set  for  dinner  forbade  the  one  conclusion,  and  a  huge 
basket  of  naperies  in  one  corner  showed  that  Miss  Janet's 
industry  did  not  spend  itself  in  housework  alone.  Before  the 
fire  stood  a  pretty  good-sized  kettle,  and  a  very  appetising 
smell  came  from  it  to  Ellen's  nose.  In  spite  of  sorrow  and 
anxiety  her  ride  had  made  her  hungry.  It  was  not  without 
pleasure  that  she  saw  her  kind  hostess  arm  herself  with  a 
deep  plate  and  tin  dipper,  and  carefully  taking  off  the  pot- 
cover  so  that  no  drops  might  fall  on  the  hearth,  proceed  to 
ladle  out  a  goodly  supply  of  what  Ellen  knew  was  that  excel- 
lent country  dish  called  pot-pie.    Excellent  it  is  when  well 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


119 


made,  and  that  was  Miss  Janet's.  The  pieces  of  crust  were 
white  and  hglit  hke  new  bread  ;  tlie  very  tit-bits  of  the  meat 
she  culled  out  for  Elien ;  and  the  soup  gravy  poured  over  all 
would  have  met  even  Miss  Fortune's  wishes,  from  its  just 
decree  of  richness  and  exact  seasonincr,  Smokinjr  hot  it  was 
placed  before  Ellen  on  a  little  stand  by  her  easy  chair,  with 
some  nice  bread  and  butter  ;  and  presently  Miss  Janet  poured 
her  out  a  cup  of  tea  ;  "  for,"  she  said,  "  Leander  never  could 
take  his  dinner  without  it."  Ellen's  appetite  needed  no  silver 
fork.  Tea  and  pot-pie  were  never  better  liked  ;  yet  Miss 
Janet's  enjoyment  was  perhaps  greater  still.  She  sat  talking 
and  looking  at  her  little  visitor  with  secret  but  immense 
satisfaction. 

"  Have  you  heard  what  fine  doings  we're  a  going  to  have 
here  by-and-by  ?"  said  she.  "  The  doctor's  tired  of  me  : 
he's  going  to  get  a  new  housekeeper ; — he's  going  to  get 
married  some  of  these  days." 

"  Is  he  !"  said  Ellen.    "  Not  to  Jenny  !" 

"  Yes  indeed  he  is — to  Jenny — Jenny  Hitchcock  ;  and  a 
nice  little  wife  she'll  make  him.  You're  a  great  friend  of 
Jenny,  I  know." 

*•  How  soon  ?"  said  Ellen. 

"0  not  just  yet — by-and-by — after  we  get  a  little  smarted 
up,  I  guess  ; — before  a  great  while.  Don't  you  think  he'll 
be  a  happy  man  ?" 

Ellen  could  not  help  wondering,  as  the  doctor  just  then 
came  in  and  she  looked  up  at  his  unfortunate  three-cornered 
face,  whether  Jenny  would  be  a  happy  woman?  But  as 
people  often  do,  she  judged  only  from  the  outside  ;  Jenny 
had  not  made  such  a  bad  choice  after  all. 

The  doctor  said  he  would  go  directly  to  Mr.  Van  Brunt 
after  he  had  been  over  to  Mrs.  Sibnorth's ;  it  wouldn't  be  a 
minute.  Ellen  meant  to  ride  back  in  his  company  ;  and 
having  finished  her  dinner  waited  now  only  for  him.  But  the 
one  minute  passed — two  minutes — ten — twenty — she  waited 
impatiently,  but  he  came  not. 

"  I'll  tell  you  how  it  must  be,"  said  his  sister, — "  he's  gone 
off  without  his  dinner  calculating  to  get  it  at  Miss  Hitchcock's, 
— he'd  be  glad  of  the  chance.  That's  how  it  is,  dear  ;  and 
you'll  have  to  ride  home  alone  ;  I'm  real  sorry.  S'pose  you 
stop  tin  eyening,  and  I'll  make  the  doctor  go  along  with  you. 


120 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


But  oh  dear !  maybe  he  wouldn't  be  able  to  neither ;  he's 
got  to  go  up  to  that  tiresome  Mrs.  Robin's  ;  it's  too  bad. 
Well  take  good  care  of  yourself  darling  ; — couldn't  you  stop 
till  it's  cooler  ? — well  come  and  see  me  as  soon  as  you  can 
again,  but  don't  come  without  someone  else  along  !  Good- 
bye !    I  wish  I  could  keep  you," 

She  went  to  the  door  to  see  her  mount,  and  smiled  and 
nodded  her  off, 

Ellen  was  greatly  refreshed  with  her  rest  and  her  dinner  ; 
it  grieved  her,  that  the  Brownie  had  not  fared  as  well.  All 
the  refreshment  that  kind  words  and  patting  could  give  him, 
she  gave  ;  promised  him  the  freshest  of  water  and  the  sweet- 
est of  hay  when  he  should  reach  home  ;  and  begged  him  to 
keep  up  his  spirits  and  hold  on  for  a  little  longer.  It  may  be 
doubted  whether  the  Brownie  understood  the  full  sense  of 
her  words,  but  he  probably  knew  what  the  kind  tones  and 
gentle  hand  meant.  He  answered  cheerfull}^  tlirew  up  his 
head  and  gave  a  little  neigh,  as  much  as  to  say,  he  wa.sn't 
going  to  mind  a  few  hours  of  sunshine ;  and  trotted  on  as  if 
he  knew  his  face  was  towards  home, — which  no  doubt  he  did. 
Luckily  it  was  not  a  very  hot  day  ;  for  August,  it  was  re- 
markably cjooI  and  beautiful;  indeed  there  was  little  very  hot 
weather  ever  known  in  Thirlwall.  Ellen's  heart  felt  easier, 
now  that  her  business  was  done !  and  when  she  had  left  the 
town  behind  her  and  was  again  in  the  fields,  she  was  less  timid 
than  she  had  been  before  ;  she  was  going  towards  home  ; 
that  makes  a  great  difference  ;  and  every  step  was  bringing 
her  nearer.  "  I  am  glad  I  came,  after  all,"  she  thought ; — "  but 
I  hope  I  shall  never  have  to  do  such  a  tiling  again.  But  I 
am  glad  I  came." 

She  had  no  more  than  crossed  the  little  bridge  however, 
when  she  saw  what  brought  her  heart  into  her  mouth.  It 
was  Mr.  Saunders,  lolling  under  a  tree.  What  could  he  have 
come  there  for  at  that  time  of  day  ?  A  vague  feeling  crossed 
her  mind  that  if  she  could  only  get  past  him  she  should  pass 
a  danger  ;  she  thought  to  ride  by  without  seeming  to  see 
him,  and  quietly  gave  the  Brownie  a  pat  to  make  him  go 
faster.  But  as  she  drew  near  Mr.  Saunders  rose  up,  came 
to  the  middle  of  the  road,  and  taking  hold  of  her  bridle 
checked  her  pony's  pace  so  that  he  could  walk  alongside  ;  to 
Ellen's  unspeakable  dismay. 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


121 


"  What's  kept  you  so  long  ?"  said  he  ; — "  I've  been  look- 
ing out  for  you  this  great  while.  Had  hard  work  to  find  the 
doctor?" 

"  Won't  you  please  to  let  go  of  my  horse,"  said  Ellen,  her 
heart  beating  very  fast ; — "  I  am  in  a  great  hurry  to  get 
home  ; — please. don't  keep  me." 

"01  want  to  see  you  a  little,"  said  Mr.  Saunders  ; — "  you 
aint  in  such  a  hurry  to  get  away  from  me  as  that  comes  to, 
are  you  ?" 

Ellen  was  silent. 

"  It's  quite  a  long  time  since  I  saw  you  last,"  said  he  ; — 
how  have  the  merinos  worn  ?" 

Ellen  could  not  bear  to  look  at  his  face  and  did  not  see  the 
expression  which  went  with  these  words,  yet  she  ftlt  it." 

''They  have  worn  very  well,"  said  she,  "but  I  want  to 
get  home  very  much — 'please  let  me  e^o." 

"Not  yet — not  yet,"  said  he, — "  O  no,  not  yet.  I  want  to 
talk  to  you ;  why  what  are  you  in  such  a  devil  of  a  hurry 
for  ?  I  came  out  on  purpose ;  do  you  think  I  am  going  to 
have  all  my  long  waiting  for  nothing  ?" 

Ellen  did  not  know  what  to  say  ;  her  heart  sprang  with  a 
nameless  pang  to  the  thought,  if  she  ever  got  free  from  this ! 
Meanwhile  she  was  not  free. 

"Whose  horse  is  that  you're  on?" 

"  Mine,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Your'n  !  that's  a  likely  story.  I  guess  he  aint  your'n, 
and  so  you  won't  mind  if  I  touch  him  up  a  little ; — I  want  to 
see  how  well  you  can  sit  a  horse." 

Passing  his  arm  through  the  bridle  as  he  said  these  words, 
Mr.  Saunders  led  the  pony  down  to  the  side  of  the  road  where 
grew  a  clump  of  high  bushes ;  and  with  some  trouble  cut  oflf 
a  long  stout  sapling.  Ellen  looked  in  every  direction  while 
he  was  doing  this,  despairing,  as  she  looked,  of  aid  from  any 
quarter  of  the  broad  quiet  open  country.  O  for  wings  !  But 
she  could  not  leave  the  Brownie  if  she  had  them. 

Returning  to  the  middle  of  the  road,  Mr.  Saunders  amused 
himself  as  they  walked  along  with  stripping  off  all  the  leaves 
and  little  twigs  from  his  sapling,  leaving  it  when  done  a  very- 
good  imitation  of  an  ox-whip  in  size  and  length,  with  a  fine 
lash-like  point.  Ellen  watched  him  in  an  ecstasy  of  appre- 
hension, afraid  alike  to  speak  or  to  be  silent. 

VOL.  II.  6 


122 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


*'  There  !  what  do  you  think  of  that  V*  said  he,  giving  it 
two  or  three  switches  in  the  air  to  try  its  suppleness  and 
toughness  ; — *'  don't  that  look  hke  a  whip  ?  Now  we'll  see 
how  he'll  go!" 

"  Please  don't  do  anything  with  it,"  said  Ellen  earnestly  ; 
— "  I  never  touch  him  with  a  whip, — he  doesn't  need  it, — he 
isn't  used  to  it  ;  pray,  pray  do  not !" 

"  0  we'll  just  tickle  him  a  little  witli  it,"  said  Mr.  Saun- 
ders coolly, — "  I  want  to  see  how  well  you'll  sit  him  ; — ^just 
make  him  caper  a  little  bit." 

He  accordingly  applied  the  switch  lightly  to  the  Brownie's 
heels,  enough  to  annoy  without  hurting  him.  The  Brownie 
showed  signs  of  uneasiness,  quitted  his  quiet  pace,  and  took 
to  little  starts  and  springs  and  whiskey  motions,  most  un- 
pleasing  to  his  rider. 

0  do  not !"  cried  Ellen,  almost  beside  herself, — "  he's  very 
spirited,  and  I  don't  know  Avhat  he  will  do  if  you  trouble  him." 

You  let  me  take  care  of  that,"  said  Mr.  Saunders  ; — "  if 
he  troubles  me  I'll  give  it  to  him  !  If  he  rears  up,  only  you 
catch  hold  of  his  mane  and  hold  on  tight,  and  you  won't  fall 
off ; — I  want  to  see  him  rear." 

*'  But  you'll  give  him  bad  tricks !"  said  Ellen.  "  0  pray 
don't  do  so  !  It's  very  bad  for  him  to  be  teased.  I  am 
afraid  he  will  kick  if  you  do  so,  and  he'd  be  ruined  if  he  got 
a  habit  of  kicking.  6  please  let  us  go  !"  said  she  with  the 
most  acute  accent  of  entreaty, — "  I  want  to  be  home." 

"  You  keep  quiet,"  said  Mr.  Saunders  coolly  ; — "  if  he 
kicks  I'll  give  him  such  a  lathering  as  he  never  had  yet ;  he 
won't  do  it  but  once.  I  aint  a-going  to  hurt  him,  but  I  am 
a-going  to  make  him  rear; — no,  1  won't, —  I'll  make  him  leap 
over  a  rail,  the  first  bar-place  we  come  to  ;  that'll  be  prettier." 

**  0  you  musn't  do  that,"  said  Ellen  ; — "  I  have  not  learn- 
ed to  leap  yet ;  I  couldn't  keep  on ;  you  musn't  do  that  if 
you  please." 

You  just  hold  fast  and  hold  your  tongue.  Catch  hold 
of  his  ears,  and  you'll  stick  on  fast  enough  ;  if  you  can't  you 
may  get  down,  for  I  am  going  to  make  him  take  the  leap 
whether  you  will  or  no." 

Ellen  feared  still  more  to  get  off  and  leave  the  Brownie  to 
her  tormentor's  mercy  than  to  stay  where  she  was  and  take 
her  chance.    She  tried  in  vain,  as  well  as  she  could,  to  soothe 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


123 


her  horse  ;  the  touches  of  the  whip  coming  now  in  one  place 
and  now  in  another,  and  some  of  them  pretty  sharp,  he  began 
to  grow  very  frisky  indeed  ;  and  she  began  to  be  very  much 
frightened  for  fear  she  should  suddenly  be  jerked  off.  With 
a  good  deal  of  presence  of  mind,  though  wrought  up  to  a  ter- 
rible pitch  of  excitement  and  fear,  Ellen  gave  her  best  atten- 
tion to  keeping  her  seat  as  the  Brownie  sprang  and  started 
and  jumped  to  one  side  and  the  other  ;  Mr.  Saunders  holding 
the  bridle  as  loose  as  possible  so  as  to  give  him  plent}^  of 
room.  For  some  little  time  he  amused  himself  with  this  game, 
the  horse  growing  more  and  more  irritated.  At  length  a 
smart  stroke  of  the  whip  upon  his  haunches  made  the 
Brownie  spring  in  a  way  that  brought  Ellen's  heart  into  her 
mouth,  and  almost  threw  her  off. 

"  Oh  don't !"  cried  Ellen,  bursting  into  tears  for  the  first 
time, — she  had  with  great  effort  commanded  them  back  until 
now  ; — "  poor  Brownie  ! — How  can  you  !  Oh  please  let  us 
go  ! — please  let  us  go  !" 

For  one  minute  she  dropped  her  face  in  her  hands. 
Be  quiet !"  said  Mr.  Saunders.    "  Plere's  a  bar-place — 
now  for  the  leap  !" 

Ellen  wiped  away  her  tears,  forced  back  those  that  were 
coming,  and  began  the  most  earnest  remonstrance  and  plead- 
inof  with  Mr.  Saunders  that  she  knew  how  to  make.   He  Daid 

CD  ^  .  ' 

her  no  sort  of  attention.  He  led  the  Brownie  to  the  side  of 
the  road,  let  down  all  the  bars  but  the  lower  two,  let  go  the 
bridle,  and  stood  a  little  off  prepared  with  his  whip  to  force 
the  horse  to  take  the  spring. 

"  I  tell  you  I  shall  fall,"  said  Ellen,  reining  him  back. 
"  How  can  you  be  so  cruel ! — I  want  to  go  home  !" 

"  Well  you  aint  a  going  home  yet.  Get  off,  if  you  are 
afraid." 

But  though  trembling  in  every  nerve  from  head  to  foot, 
Ellen  fancied  the  Brownie  was  safer  so  long  as  he  had  her  on 
his  back ;  she  would  not  leave  him.  She  pleaded  her  best, 
which  Mr.  Saunders  heard  as  if  it  was  amusing,  and  without 
making  any  answer  kept  the  horse  capering  in  front  of  the 
bars,  pretending  every  minute  he  was  going  to  whip  him  up 
to  take  the  leap.  His  object  however  was  merely  to  gratify 
the  smallest  of  minds  by  teasing  a  child  he  had  a  spite 
against ;  he  had  no  intention  to  risk  breaking  her  bones  by  a 


124 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD- 


fall  from  her  horse  ;  so  in  time  he  had  enough  of  the  bar- 
place  ;  took  the  bridle  again  and  walked  on.  Ellen  drew 
breath  a  little  more  freely. 

"  Did  you  hear  how  1  handled  your  old  gentleman  after 
that  time  ?"  said  Mr.  Saunders. 

Ellen  made  no  answer. 

"  No  one  ever  affronts  me  that  don't  hear  news  of  it  after- 
wards, and  so  he  found  to  his  cost.  /  paid  him  off,  to  my 
heart's  content.  I  gave  the  old  fellow  a  lesson  to  behave  in 
future.  I  forgive  him  now  entirely.  By  the  way  I've  a  little 
account  to  settle  with  you — didn't  you  ask  Mr.  Perriman  this 
morning  if  Dr.  Gibson  was  in  the  house  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  who  it  was,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Well,  hadn't  I  told  you  just  before  he  warn't  there  ?" 

Ellen  was  silent. 
What  did  you  do  that  for,  eh  ?  Didn't  you  believe  me  ?" 

Still  she  did  not  speak. 
I  say  !"  said  Mr.  Saunders,  touching  the  Brownie  as  he 
spoke, — "  did  you  think  I  told  you  a  lie  about  it  ? — eh  ?" 

"  I  didn't  know  but  he  might  be  there,"  Ellen  forced  her- 
self to  say. 

"  Then  you  didn't  believe  me  ?"  said  he,  always  with  that 
same  smile  upon  his  face  ;  Ellen  knew  that. 

Now  that  warn't  handsome  of  you — and  I'm  agoing  to 
punish  you  for  it,  somehow  or  'nother ;  but  it  aint  pretty  to 
quarrel  with  ladies,  so  Brownie  and  me'll  settle  it  together. 
You  won't  mind  that  I  dare  say."  ■ 

"  What  are  going  to  do  ?"  said  Ellen,  as  he  once  more  drew 
her  down  to  the  side  of  the  fence. 

"  Get  off  and  you'll  see,"  said  he,  laughing  ; — "  get  off  and 
you'll  see." 

"  What  do  you  want  to  do  ?"  repeated  Ellen,  though  scarce 
able  to  speak  the  words. 

"I'm  just  going  to  tickle  Brownie  a  httle,  to  teach  you  to 
believe  honest  folks  when  they  speak  the  truth ;  get  off!" 

"  No  I  won't,"  said  Ellen,  throwing  both  arms  round  the 
neck  of  her  pony  ; — "  poor  Brownie  ! — you  sha'n't  do  it.  He 
hasn't  done  any  harm,  nor  I  either ;  you  are  a  bad  man  !" 
Get  off !"  repeated  Mr.  Saunders. 

**  I  will  not !"  said  Ellen,  still  clinging  fast. 

"  Very  well,"  said  he  coolly, — "  then  I  will  take  you  oflf ; 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


125 


it  don't  make  much  difference.  We'll  go  along  a  little  further 
till  1  find  a  nice  stone  for  you  to  sit  down  upon.  If  you  had 
got  off  then  I  wouldn't  ha'  done  much  to  him,  but  I'll  give  it 
to  him  n«w  !  If  he  hasn't  been  used  to  a  whip  he'll  know 
pretty  well  what  it  means  by  the  time  I  have  done  with  him  ; 
and  then  you  may  go  home  as  fast  as  you  can." 

It  is  very  likely  Mr.  Saunders  would  have  been  as  good,  or 
as  bad,  as  his  word.  His  behavior  to  Ellen  in  the  store  at  New 
York,  and  the  measures  taken  by  the  old  gentleman  who  had 
befriended  her,  had  been  the  cause  of  his  dismissal  from  the 
employ  of  Messrs.  St.  Clair  and  Fleury.  Two  or  three  other 
attempts  to  get  into  business  had  come  to  nothing,  and  he 
had  been  obliged  to  return  to  his  native  town.  Ever  since, 
Ellen  and  the  old  gentleman  had  lived  in  his  memory  as  ob- 
jects of  the  deepest  spite  ; — the  one  for  interfering,  the  other 
for  having  been  the  innocent  cause  ;  and  he  no  sooner  saw 
her  in  the  post-office  than  he  promised  himself  revenge,  such 
revenge  as  only  the  meanest  and  most  cowardly  spirit  could 
have  taken  pleasure  in.  His  best  way  of  distressing  Ellen, 
he  found,  was  through  her  horse ;  he  had  almost  satisfied 
himself ;  but  very  naturally  his  feeling  of  spite  had  grown 
stronger  and  blunter  with  indulgence,  and  he  meant  to  wind 
up  with  such  a  treatment  of  her  pony,  real  or  seeming,  as  he 
knew  would  give  great  pain  to  the  pony's  mistress.  He  was 
prevented. 

As  they  went  slowly  along,  Ellen  still  clasping  the  Brownie's 
neck  and  resolved  to  cling  to  him  to  the  last,  Mr.  Saunders 
making  him  caper  in  a  way  very  uncomfoi'table  to  her,  one 
was  too  busy  and  the  other  too  deafened  by  fear  to  notice  the 
sound  of  fast  approaching  hoofs  behind  them.  It  happened 
that  John  Humphreys  had  passed  the  night  at  Ventnor;  nnd 
having  an  errand  to  do  for  a  friend  at  Thirlwall  had  taken  that 
road,  which  led  him  but  a  few  miles  out  of  his  way,  and  was 
now  at  full  speed  on  his  way  home.  He  had  never  made  the 
Brownie's  acquaintance,  and  did  not  recognize  Ellen  as  he 
came  up ;  but  in  passing  them  some  strange  notion  crossing 
his  mind  he  wheeled  his  horse  round  directly  in  front  of  the 
astonished  pair.  Ellen  quitted  her  pony's  neck,  and  stretch- 
ing out  both  arms  towards  him  exclaimed,  almost  shrieked, 
"  Oh,  John  !  John !  send  him  away  !  make  him  let  me  go  !" 

"  What  are  you  about,  sir  ?"  said  the  new-comer  steraly. 


126 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  (VORLD. 


"  It's  none  of  your  business  !"  answered  Mr.  Saunders,  in 
whom  rage  for  the  time  overcame  cowardice. 

"Take  your  hand  off  the  bridle  !" — with  a  shght  touch  of 
the  riding'-whip  upon  the  hand  in  question. 

"  Not  for  you,  brother,"  said  Mr.  Saunders  sneeringly  ; — "I'll 
walk  with  any  lady  I've  a  mind  to.    Look  out  for  yourself!" 

"  We  will  dispense  with  your  further  attendance,"  said  John 
coolly.    "Do  you  hear  me  ? — do  as  I  order  you  !" 

The  speaker  did  not  put  himself  in  a  passion,  and  Mr.  Saun- 
ders, accustomed  for  his  own  pai  t  to  make  bluster  serve  in- 
stead of  prowess,  despised  a  command  so  calmly  given. — 
Ellen,  who  knew  the  voice,  and  still  better  could  read  the 
eye,  drew  conclusions  very  different.  She  was  almost  breath- 
less with  terror.  Saunders  was  enraged  and  mortified  at  an 
interference  that  promised  to  baffle  him  ;  he  was  a  stout  young 
man,  and  judged  himself  the  stronger  of  the  two,  and  took 
notice  besides  that  the  stranger  had  nothing  in  his  hand  but 
a  slight  riding-whip.  He  answered  very  insolently  and  with 
an  oath  ;  and  John  saw  that  he  was  taking  the  bridle  in  his 
left  hand  and  shifting  his  sapling  whip  so  as  to  bring  the 
club  end  of  it  uppermost.  I'he  next  instant  he  aimed  a  fu- 
rious blow  at  his  adversary's  horse.  '1  he  quick  eye  and  hand 
of  the  the  rider  disappointed  that  Avith  a  sudden  swerve.  In 
another  moment,  and  Ellen  hardly  saw  how,  it  was  so  quick, 
— John  had  dismounted,  taken  Mr.  Saunders  by  the  collar, 
and  hurled  him  quite  over  into  the  gulley  at  the  side  of  the 
road,  where  he  lay  at  full  length  without  stirring. 

"  Ride  on  Ellen  !"  said  her  deliverer. 

She  obeyed.  He  stayed  a  moment  to  say  to  his  fallen  ad- 
versary a  few  words  of  pointed  warning  as  to  ever  repeating 
his  offence  ;  then  remounted  and  spurred  forward  to  join 
Ellen.  All  her  power  of  keeping  up  was  gone,  now  that  the 
necessity  was  over.  Her  head  was  once  more  bowed  on  her 
pony's  neck,  her  whole  frame  shaking  with  convulsive  sobs  ; 
she  could  scarce  with  great  effort  keep  from  crying  out 
aloud. 

"  Ellie  !" — said  her  adopted  brother,  in  a  voice  that  could 
hardly  be  known  for  the  one  that  had  last  spoken.  She  had 
no  words,  but  as  he  gently  took  one  of  her  hands,  the  convul- 
sive squeeze  it  gave  him  shewed  the  state  of  nervous  excite- 
ment she  was  in.    It  was  very  long  before  his  utmost  efforts 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


127 


oould  soothe  her,  or  she  could  command  herself  enough  to 
tell  him  her  story.  When  at  last  told,  it  was  with  many 
tears. 

"  Oh  how  could  he !  how  could  he  !"  said  poor  Ellen ; — 
*'  how  could  he  do  so  ! — it  was  very  hard  !" — 

An  involuntary  touch  of  the  spurs  made  John's  horse 
start. 

"  But  what  took  you  to  Thiriwall  alone  ?"  said  he  ; — "  you 
have  not  told  me  that  yet." 

Ellen  went  back  to  Timothy's  invasion  of  the  cabbages, 
and  gave  him  the  whole  history  of  the  morning. 

"  i  thought  when  I  was  going  for  the  doctor,  at  first,"  said 
she, — "  and  then  afterwards  when  I  had  found  him,  what  a 
good  thing  it  w^as  that  Timothy  broke  down  the  garden  fence 
and  got  in  this  morning  ;  for  if  it  had  not  been  for  that  I 
should  not  have  p-one  to  Mr.  Van  Brunt's  ; — and  then  aofain 
after  that  I  thought,  if  he  only  had'nt !" 

"  Little  thino^s  often  draw  after  them  lono^  trains  of  circum- 
stances,"  said  John, — "  and  that  shows  the  folly  of  those  peo- 
ple who  think  that  God  does  not  stoop  to  concern  himself  about 
trifles  ; — life,  and  much  more  than  life,  may  hang  upon  the 
turn  of  a  hand.  But  Ellen,  you  must  ride  no  more  alone, — 
Promise  me  that  you  will  not." 

"  I  will  not  to  Thiriwall  certainly,"  said  Ellen, — "  but  mayn't 
I  to  Alice's  ? — how  can  I  help  it  ?" 

Well — to  AHce's — that  is  a  safe  part  of  the  country  ; — but 
I  should  like  to  know  a  little  more  of  your  horse  before  trust- 
ing you  even  there." 

"  Of  the  Brownie  ?"  said  Ellen  ; — "  O  he  is  as  good  as  he  can 
be  ;  you  need  not  be  afraid  of  him  ;  he  has  no  trick  at  all ; 
there  never  w^as  such  a  good  little  horse." 

John  smiled.    "  How  do  you  like  mine  ?"  said  he. 
Is  that  your  new  one  ?    0  what  a  beauty  ! — 0  me,  what 
a  beauty  !    I  didn't  look  at  him  before.    O  I  like  him  very 
much  !  he's  handsomer  than  the  Brownie  ; — do  you  like 
him  ?" 

"  Very  well ! — this  is  the  first  trial  I  have  made  of  him.  I 
was  at  Mr.  Marshman's  last  night,  and  they  detained  me  this 
morning  or  I  should  have  been  here  much  earlier.  I  am  very 
well  satisfied  with  him,  so  far." 

"  And  if  you  had  not  been  detained  !" — said  Ellen. 


128 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


"  Yes  Ellie — I  should  not  have  fretted  at  my  late  break- 
fast and  having  to  try  Mr.  Marsbman's  favorite  mare,  if  1  had 
known  what  good  purpose  the  delay  was  to  serve.  I  wish  I 
could  have  been  here  half  an  hour  sooner,  though." 

"  Is  his  name  the  Black  Prince  ?"  said  Ellen^  returning  to 
the  horse. 

Yes,  I  believe  so  ;  but  you  shall  change  it  ElUe,  if  you 
can  find  one  you  like  better." 

"01  cannot ! — I  like  that  very  much.  How  beautiful  he 
is !    Is  he  good  ?" 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  John  smiling  ; — "  if  he  is  not  1  shall  be  at 
the  pains  to  make  him  so.    We  are  hardly  acquainted  yet." 

Ellen  looked  doubtfully  at  the  black  horse  and  his  rider, 
and  patting  the  Brownie's  neck,  observed  with  great  satisfac- 
tion that  he  was  very  good. 

John  had  been  riding  very  slowly  on  Ellen's  account ;  they 
now  mended  their  pace.  He  saw  how^ever  that  she  still 
looked  miserably,  and  exerted  himself  to  turn  her  thoughts 
from  everything  disagreeable.  Much  to  her  amusement  he 
rode  round  her  two  or  three  times,  to  view  her  horse  and 
show  her  his  own  ;  commended  the  Brownie ;  praised  her 
bridle  hand ;  corrected  several  things  about  her  riding ;  and 
by  degrees  engaged  her  in  very  animated  conversation.  Ellen 
roused  up  ;  the  color  came  back  to  her  cheeks ;  and  when 
they  reached  home  and  rode  round  to  the  glass  door  she 
looked  almost  like  herself. 

She  sprang  off  as  usual  without  waiting  for  any  help. 
John  scarce  saw  that  she  had  done  so,  when  Alice's  cry  of 
joy  brought  him  to  the  door,  and  from  that  together  they 
went  in  to  their  father's  study.  Ellen  was  left  alone  on  the 
lawn.  Something  was  the  matter ;  for  she  stood  with  swim- 
ming eyes  and  a  trembling  lip,  nibbing  her  stirrup,  which 
really  needed  no  polishing,  and  forgetting  the  tired  horses, 
which  would  have  had  her  sympathy  at  any  other  time. 
What  was  the  matter  ?  Only — that  Mr.  John  had  forgotten 
the  kiss  he  always  gave  her  on  going  or  coming.  Ellen  was 
jealous  of  it  as  a  pledge  of  sistership,  and  could  not  want  it : 
and  though  she  tried  as  hard  as  she  could  to  get  her  face  in 
order,  so  tliat  she  might  go  in  and  meet  them,  somehow  it 
seemed  to  take  a  great  while.  She  was  still  busy  with  her 
stirrup,  when  she  suddenly  felt  two  hands  on  her  shoulders. 


THE  ^VIDE5  WIDE  WORLD. 


129 


and  looking  up  received  the  very  kiss  the  want  of  which  she 
had  been  himeniing.  But  John  saw  the  tears  in  her  eyes, 
and  asked  her,  she  thought  with  somewhat  of  a  comical  look, 
what  the  matter  was  ?  Ellen  was  ashamed  to  tell,  but  he 
had  her  there  by  the  shoulders,  and  besides,  whatever  that 
eye  demanded  she  never  knew  how  to  keep  back ;  so  with 
some  difficulty  she  told  him. 

"  You  are  a  foolish  child,  Ellie,"  said  he  gently,  and  kissing 
her  again.    "  Run  in  out  of  the  sun  while  I  see  to  the  horses." 

Ellen  ran  in,  and  told  her  long  story  to  Alice  ;  and  then  feel- 
ing very  weary  and  weak  she  sat  on  the  sofa  and  lay  resting  in 
her  arras  in  a  state  of  the  most  entire  and  unruffled  happiness. 
Alice  however  after  a  while  transferred  her  to  bed,  thinking 
with  good  reason  that  a  long  sleep  would  be  the  best  thing 
for  her. 


6* 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 


Now  is  t!ie  jhleasant  fime, 
Tlie  cool,  the  silent,  save  where  silence  yields 
To  the  night  warbling  bird  ;  that  now  awake. 
Tunes  sweetest  her  love  labored  song  ;  now  reigns 
Full  orbed  the  moon,  and  with  more  pleasing  light 
Shadowy,  sets  off  the  face  of  things. 

Milton. 

When  Ellen  came  out  of  Alice's  room  again  it  was  late  in 
the  afternoon.  'J'he  sun  was  so  low  that  the  shadow  of  the 
house  had  crossed  the  narrow  lawn  and  mounted  up  near  to 
the  top  of  the  trees  ;  but  on  them  he  was  still  shining  brightly, 
and  on  the  broad  landscape  beyond,  which  lay  open  to  view 
through  the  gap  in  the  trees.  The  glass  door  w^as  open  ;  the 
sweet  summer  air  and  the  sound  of  birds  and  insects  and  flut- 
tering leaves  floated  into  the  room,  making  tlie  stillness  musi- 
cal. On  the  thresliold  pussy  sat  crouched,  with  his  fore-feet 
doubled  under  his  breast,  watching  with  intense  gravity  the 
operations  of  Margery,  who  was  setting  the  table  on  the  lawn 
just  before  his  eyes.    Alice  Avas  paring  peaches. 

**  0  we  are  going  to  have  tea  out  of  doors,  aren't  we  ?" 
said  Ellen.  "  I'm  very  glad.  What  a  lovely  evening,  isn't 
it?  Just  look  at  pussy,  will  you,  Alice  ?  don't  you  believe 
he  knows  what  Margery  is  doing  ? — Why  didn't  you  call  me 
to  go  along  with  you  after  peaches?" 

"  I  thought  you  were  doing  the  very  best  thing  you  possi- 
bly could,  Ellie,  my  dear.    How  do  you  do  ?" 

"0  nicely  now!  Where's  Mr.  John?  I  hope  he  won't 
ask  for  my  last  drawing  to-night, — I  want  to  fix  the  top  of 
that  tree  before  he  sees  it." 

"  Fix  the  top  of  your  tree,  you  little  Yankee  ?"  said  Alice  ; 
— "  what  do  you  think  John  would  say  to  that  ? — wnfix  it  you 
mean  ;  it  is  too  stiff  already,  isn't  it  ?" 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


131 


"  Well  what  shall  I  say  ?'  said  Ellen  laughing.  "  I  am 
sorry  that  is  Yankee,  for  1  suppose  one  must  speak  English. 
— 1  want  to  do  something  to  my  tree,  then. — Where  is  he, 
Ahce  ?" 

"He  is  gone  down  to  Mr.  Van  Brunt's,  to  see  hoAv  he  is, 
and  to  speak  to  Miss  Fortune  about  you  on  his  way  back." 

"  0  how  kind  of  him  ! — he's  very  good  ;  that  is  just  what 
1  want  to  know  ;  but  I  am  sorry,  after  his  long  ride" — 

"  He  don't  mind  that,  Ellie.    He'll  be  home  presently." 

"  How  nice  those  peaches  look ; — they  are  as  good  as 
strawberries,  don't  you  think  so? — better, — I  don't  know 
which  is  best ; — but  Mr.  John  likes  these  best,  don't  he  ? 
Now  you've  done ! — shall  I  set  them  on  the  table  ? — and 
here's  a  pitcher  of  splendid  cream,  Alice  !" 

"  You  had  better  not  tell  John  so,  or  he  will  make  you  de- 
fine splendid. 

John  came  back  in  good  time,  and  brought  word  that  Mr. 
Van  Brunt  was  doing  very  well,  so  far  as  could  be  known ; 
also,  that  Miss  Fortune  consented  to  Ellen's  remaining  where 
she  was.  He  wisely  did  not  say,  however,  that  her  consent 
had  been  slow  to  gain  till  he  had  hinted  at  his  readiness  to 
provide  a  substitute  for  Ellen's  services  ;  on  which  Miss  For- 
tune had  instantly  declared  she  did  not  want  her  and  she 
might  stay  as  long  as  she  pleased.  This  was  all  that  was 
needed  to  complete  Ellen's  felicity. 

Wasn't  your  poor  horse  too  tired  to  go  out  again  this 
afternoon,  Mr.  John?" 

*'  I  did  not  ride  him,  Ellie  ;  I  took  yours." 

"The  Brownie! — did  you? — I'm  very  glad!  How  did 
you  like  him  ?  But  perhaps  he  was  tired  a  little,  and  you 
couldn't  tell  so  well  to-day." 

"  He  was  not  tired  with  any  work  you  had  given  him, 
Ellie  ; — perhaps  he  may  be  a  little  now." 

"  Why  ?"  said  Ellen,  somewhat  alarmed. 

"  1  have  been  trying  him ;  and  instead  of  going  quietly 
along  the  road  we  have  been  taking  some  of  the  fences  in  our 
way.  As  I  intend  practising  you  at  the  bar,  I  wished  to 
make  sure  in  the  first  place  that  he  knew  his  lesson." 

"  Well  how  did  he  do  ?" 

"  Perfectly  well — I  believe  he  is  a  good  little  fellow.  I 


132 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


wanted  to  satisfy  myself  if  he  was  fit  to  be  trusted  with  you ; 
and  I  rather  think  Mr.  Marshman  has  taken  care  of  that." 

The  whole  wall  of  trees  was  in  shadow  when  the  little  family 
sat  down  to  table  ;  but  there  was  still  the  sun-lit  picture  be- 
hind ;  and  there  was  another  kind  of  sunshine  in  every  face 
at  the  table.  Quietly  happy  the  whole  four,  or  at  least  thi! 
whole  three,  were  ;  first,  in  being  together, — after  that,  in  all 
things  beside.  Never  was  tea  so  refreshing,  or  bread  and 
butter  so  sweet,  or  the  song  of  birds  so  delightsome.  When 
the  birds  were  gone  to  their  nests,  the  cricket  and  grasshop- 
per and  tree-toad  and  katy-did,  and  nameless  other  songsters, 
kept  up  a  concert, — nature's  own, — in  delicious  harmony  with 
woods  and  flowers  and  summer  breezes  and  evening  light. 
Ellen's  cup  of  enjoyment  was  running  over.  From  one  beau- 
tiful thing  to  another  her  eye  wandered, — from  one  joy  to 
another  her  thoughts  went, — till  her  full  heart  fixed  on  the 
God  who  had  made  and  given  them  all,  and  that  Redeemer 
whose  blood  had  been  their  purchase-money.  From  the  dear 
friends  beside  her,  the  best-loved  she  had  in  the  world,  she 
thought  of  the  one  dearer  yet  from  whom  death  had  separat- 
ed her  ; — yet  living  still, — and  to  whom  death  would  restore 
her,  thanks  to  Him  who  had  burst  the  bonds  of  death  and 
broken  the  gates  of  the  grave,  and  made  a  way  for  his  ran- 
somed to  pass  over.  And  the  thought  of  Him  was  the  joy- 
fullest  of  all ! 

"You  look  happy,  Ellie,"  said  her  adopted  brother. 

"  So  I  am,"  said  Ellen,  smiling  a  very  bright  smile. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about  ?" — 

But  John  saw  it  would  not  do  to  press  his  question. 

"  You  remind  me,"  said  he,  "of  some  old  fairy  story  that 
my  childish  ears  received,  in  which  the  fountains  of  the  sweet 
and  bitter  waters  of  life  were  said  to  stand  very  near  each 
other,  and  to  mingle  their  streams  but  a  little  way  from  their 
source.  Your  tears  and  smiles  seem  to  be  brothers  and  sis- 
ters ; — whenever  we  see  one  we  may  be  sure  the  other  is  not 
far  off." 

"  My  dear  Jack  !"  said  Alice  laughing, — what  an  unhappy 
simile  !    Are  brothers  and  sisters  always  found  like  that  ?" 

"  I  wish  they  were,"  said  John  sighing  and  smiling  ; — "  but 
my  last  words  had  nothing  to  do  with  my  simile  as  you  call  it.'* 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


133 


When  tea  was  over,  and  Margery  had  withdrawn  tlie 
things  and  taken  away  the  table,  they  still  lingered  in  their 
places.  It  was  far  too  pleasant  to  go  in.  Mr.  Humphreys 
moved  his  chair  to  the  side  of  the  house,  and  thiowing  a 
handkerchief  over  his  head  to  defend  him  from  the  mos- 
quitoes, a  few  of  which  were  buzzing  about,  he  either 
listened,  meditated,  or  slept ; — most  probably  one  of  tlie  two 
latter  ;  for  the  conversation  was  not  very  loud  nor  very  lively  ; 
it  was  happiness  enough  merely  to  breathe  so  near  each  other. 
The  sun  left  the  distant  fields  and  hills  ;  soft  twilight  stole 
through  the  woods,  down  the  gap,  and  over  the  plain ;  the 
grass  lost  its  green  ;  the  wall  of  trees  grew  dark  and  dusky ; 
and  very  faint  and  dim  showed  the  picture  that  was  so  bright 
a  little  while  ago.  As  they  sat  quite  silent,  listening  to  what 
nature  had  to  say  to  them,  or  letting  fancy  and  memory  take 
their  way,  the  silence  v/as  broken — hardly  broken — by  the 
distinct  far-off  cry  of  a  Avhip-poor-will.  Alice  grasped  her 
brother's  arm,  and  they  remained  motionless,  while  it  came 
nearer,  nearer, — then  quite  near, — with  its  clear,  wild,  shrill, 
melancholy  note  sounding  close  by  them  again  and  again, — 
strangely,  plaintively, — then  leaving  the  lawn,  it  was  heard 
further  and  further  off,  till  the  last  faint  "  whip-poor-will,"  in 
the  far  distance,  ended  its  pretty  interlude.  It  was  almost 
too  dark  to  read  faces,  but  the  eyes  of  the  brother  and  sister 
had  sought  each  other  and  remained  fixed  till  the  bird  was 
out  of  hearing  ;  then  Alice's  hand  was  removed  to  his,  and 
her  head  found  its  old  place  on  her  brother's  shoulder. 

"  Sometimes  John,"  said  Ahce,  "  I  am  afraid  I  have  one 
tie  too  strong  to  this  world.  I  cannot  bear — as  I  ought — to 
have  you  away  from  me." 

Her  brother's  lips  were  instantly  pressed  to  her  forehead. 

"  I  may  say  to  you  Alice,  as  Col.  Gardiner  said  to  his  wife, 
'  we  have  an  eternity  to  spend  together !'  " 

I  wonder,"  said  Alice  after  a  pause, — "  how  those  can 
bear  to  love  or  be  loved,  whose  affection  can  see  nothing  but 
a  blank  beyond  the  grave." 

"  Few  people,  I  believe,"  said  her  brother,  "  would  come 
exactly  under  that  description  ;  most  flatter  themselves  with 
a  vague  hope  of  reunion  after  death," 

"  But  that  is  a  miserable  hope — very  different  from  ours." 

'*  Very  different  indeed  I — and  miserable  ;  for  it  can  only 


13i 


THE   "WIDE,  ^VIDE  "WORLD. 


deceive  ;  but  ours  is  sure.  *  Them  that  sleep  in  Jesus  will 
God  bring  with  him.'  " 

"  Precious  !"  said  Ahce.  "  How  exactly  fitted  to  every 
want  and  mood  of  the  mind  are  the  sweet  Bible  words." 

"  Well !"  said  Mr.  Humphreys,  rousing  himself, — "  I  am 
going  in!  These  mosquitoes  have  half  eaten  me  up.  Are 
you  going  to  sit  there  all  night?" 

"  We  are  thinking  of  it,  papa,"  said  Alice  cheerfully. 

He  went  in,  and  was  heard  calling  Margery  for  a  light. 

They  had  better  lights  on  the  lawn.  The  stars  began  to 
peep  out  through  the  soft  blue,  and  as  tlie  blue  grew  deeper 
they  came  out  more  and  brighter,  till  all  heaven  was  hung 
with  lamps.  But  that  was  not  all.  In  the  eastern  horizon, 
just  above  the  low  hills  that  bordered  the  far  side  of  the 
plain,  a  white  light,  spreading  and  growing  and  brightening, 
promised  the  moon,  and  promised  that  she  would  rise  very 
splendid  ;  and  even  before  she  came  began  to  throw  a  faint 
lustre  over  the  landscape.  All  eyes  were  fastened,  and 
exclamations  burst,  as  the  first  silver  edge  showed  itself,  and 
the  moon  rapidly  rising  looked  on  them  with  her  whole  broad 
bright  face  ;  lighting  up  not  only  their  faces  and  figures  but 
the  wide  country  view  that  was  spread  out  below,  and  touch- 
ing most  beautifully  the  trees  in  the  edge  of  the  gap,  and 
faintly  the  lawn  ;  while  the  wall  of  wood  stood  in  deeper  and 
blacker  shadow  than  ever. 

Isn't  that  beautiful !"  said  Ellen. 

"  Come  round  here,  Ellie,"  said  John  ; — "  Ahce  may  have 
you  all  the  rest  of  the  year,  but  when  I  am  at  home  you 
belong  to  me.  What  was  your  little  head  busied  upon  a  while 
ago?" 

When  ?"  said  Ellen. 

"  When  I  asked  you  " — 

0  1  know, — I  remember.    I  was  thinking  " — 
"Well?"— 

"  I  was  thinking — do  you  want  me  to  tell  you  ?" 
"Unless  you  would  rather  not." 

1  was  thinkino:  about  Jesus  Christ,"  said  Ellen  in  a  low 
tone. 

"  What  about  him,  dear  Ellie  ?"  said  her  brother,  drawing 
her  closer  to  his  side. 

**  Different  things, — I  was  thinking  of  what  he  said  about 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


135 


little  children, — and  about  what  he  said,  you  know, — *  In  my 
Father's  house  are  many  mansions  — and  I  was  thinking  that 
mamma  was  there  ;  and  I  thought — that  we  all " — 
Ellen  could  get  no  further. 

"  '  He  that  believeth  in  him  shall  not  be  ashamed,'  "  said 
John  softly.  "  '  This  is  the  promise  that  he  hath  promised 
us,  even  eternal  life ;  and  who  shall  separate  us  from  the  love 
of  Christ  ?  Not  death,  nor  things  present,  nor  things  to 
come.  But  he  that  hath  this  hope  in  him,  purifieth  himself 
even  as  he  is  pure  ;' — let  us  remember  that  too." 

*'  Mr.  John,"  said  Ellen  presently, — "  don't  you  like  some 
of  the  chapters  in  the  Revelation  very  much  ?" 
Yes — very  much.    Why  ? — do  you  ?" 

"  Yes.  I  remember  reading  parts  of  them  to  mamma,  and 
that  is  one  reason,  I  suppose ;  but  I  like  them  very  much. 
There  is  a  great  deal  I  can't  understand,  though." 

"  There  is  nothing  finer  in  the  Bible  than  parts  of  that 
book,"  said  Ahce. 

"  Mr.  John,"  said  Ellen, — **  what  is  meant  by  the  *  white 
stone  ?* " 

"  '  And  in  the  stone  a  new  name  written  ?'  " — 
Yes — that  I  mean." 

Mr.  Baxter  says  it  is  the  sense  of  God's  love  in  the 
heart ;  and  indeed  that  is  it  '  which  no  man  knoweth  saving 
him  that  receiveth  it.'  This,  I  take  it,  Ellen,  was  Christian's 
certificate,  which  he  used  to  comfort  himself  with  reading  in, 
you  remember  ?" 

"  Can  a  child  have  it  ?"  said  Ellen  thoughtfully. 

"  Certainly — many  children  have  had  it — you  may  have  it. 
Only  seek  it  faithfully.  '  Thou  meetest  him  that  rejoiceth  and 
worketh  righteousness,  those  that  remember  thee  in  thy 
ways.' — And  Christ  said,  '  he  that  loveth  me  shall  be  loved  of 
my  Father,  and  I  will  love  him,  and  I  will  manifest  myself  to 
him  !'  There  is  no  failure  in  these  promises,  Ellie  ;  he  that 
made  them  is  the  same  yesterday,  to-day,  and  forever." 

For  a  little  while  each  was  busy  with  his  own  meditations. 
The  moon  meanwhile,  rising  higher  and  higher,  poured  a 
flood  of  light  through  the  gap  in  the  woods  before  them,  and 
stealing  among  the  trees  here  and  there  lit  up  a  spot  of  ground 
under  their  deep  shadow.  The  distant  picture  lay  in  mazy 
brightness.    All  was  still,  but  the  ceaseless  chirrup  of  insects 


106 


^HE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


and  gentle  flapping  of  leaves  ;  the  summer  air  just  touched 
their  cheeks  with  the  lightest  breath  of  a  kiss,  sweet  from 
distant  hay-fields,  and  nearer  pines  and  hemlocks,  and  other 
of  nature's  numberless  perfume-boxes.  The  hay-harvest  had 
been  remarkably  late  this  year. 

"  This  is  higher  enjoyment,*'  said  John, — "  than  half  those 
who  make  their  homes  in  rich  houses  and  mighty  palaces 
have  any  notion  of." 

"  But,  cannot  rich  people  look  at  the  moon  ?"  said  Ellen. 

*'  Yes,  but  the  taste  for  pure  pleasures  is  commonly  gone 
when  people  make  a  tiade  of  pleasure." 

'•'Mr.  John" — Ellen  began. 

"  I  will  forewarn  you,"  said  he, — "  that  Mr.  John  has  made 
up  his  mind  he  will  do  nothing  more  for  you.  So  if  you 
have  anything  to  ask,  it  must  lie  still, — unless  you  will  begin 
again." 

Ellen  drew  back.  He  looked  grave,  but  she  saw  Alice 
smiling. 

"  But  what  shall  I  do  ?"  said  she,  a  little  perplexed  and  half 
laughing.  "  What  do  you  mean  Mr.  John  ?  What  does  he 
mean  Alice?" 

"  You  could  speak  without  a  *  Mr.'  to  me  this  morning 
when  you  were  in  trouble." 

**  Oh  !"  said  Ellen  laughing, — **  I  forgot  myself  then." 

"  Have  the  goodness  to  forget  yourself  permanently  for  the 
future." 

"  Was  that  man  hurt  this  morning,  John  ?"  said  his  sister. 
"  What  man  ?" 

"  That  man  you  delivered  Ellen  from." 

"  Hurt  ?  no — nothing  material ;  I  did  not  wish  to  hurt  him. 
He  richly  deserved  punishment,  but  it  was  not  for  me  to 
give  it." 

"He  was  in  no  hurry  to  get  up,"  said  Ellen. 

*'  I  do  not  think  he  ventured  upon  that  till  we  were  well 
out  of  the  way.  He  lifted  his  head  and  looked  after  us  as 
we  rode  off." 

"  But  I  wanted  to  ask  something,"  said  Ellen, — "  0  !  what 
is  the  reason  the  moon  looks  so  much  larger  when  she  first 
gets  up  than  she  does  afterwards  ?" 

"  Whom  are  you  asking  ?" 
You." 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


137 


'*  And  who  is  you  ?    Here  are  two  people  in  the  moonlight." 

**  Mr.  John  Humpheys, — Alice's  brother,  and  that  Thomas 
calls  *  the  young  master,'  "  said  Ellen  laughing. 

"  You  are  more  shy  of  taking  a  leap  than  your  little  horse 
is,"  said  John  smiling, — "  but  i  shall  bring  you  up  to  it  yet. 
What  is  the  cause  of  the  sudden  enlargement  of  my  thumb  ?" 

He  had  drawn  a  small  magnifying  glass  from  his  pocket 
and  held  it  between  his  hand  and  Ellen, 

"Why  it  is  not  enlarged,"  said  Ellen, —  "it  is  only  magni- 
fied." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?" 

"  Why,  the  glass  makes  it  look  larger." 

**  Do  you  know  how,  or  why  ?" 

"  No." 

He  put  up  the  glass  again. 

"  But  what  do  you  mean  by  that  ?"  said  Ellen  ; — "  there  is 
no  magnifying  glass  between  us  and  the  moon  to  make  her 
look  larger." 

"  You  are  sure  of  that  ?" 

"  Why  yes  !"  said  Ellen  ; — "  I  am  perfectly  sure  ;  there  is 
nothing  in  the  world.  There  she  is,  right  up  there,  looking 
straight  down  upon  us,  and  there  is  nothing  between." 

"  What  is  it  that  keeps  up  that  pleasant  fluttering  of  leaves 
in  the  wood  ?" 

"  Why,  the  wind." 

"  And  what  is  the  wind  ?" 

"  It  is  air — air  moving,  I  suppose." 

"  Exactly.  Then  tliere  is  something  between  us  and  the 
moon." 

#  "  The  air !  But,  Mr.  John,  one  can  see  quite  clearly 
through  the  air;  it  doesn't  make  things  look  larger  or 
smaller." 

"  How  far  do  you  suppose  the  air  reaches  from  us  towards 
the  moon  ?" 

"  Why,  all  the  way,  don't  it  ?" 

"  No — only  about  forty  miles.  If  it  reached  all  the  way 
there  would  indeed  be  no  magnifying  glass  in  the  case." 

"But  how  is  it?"  said  Ellen.    "  I  don't  understand." 

"I  cannot  tell  you  to-night,  Ellie.  There  is  a  long  lad- 
der of  knowledge  to  go  up  before  we  can  get  to  the  moon, 
but  we  will  begin  to  mount  to-morrow,  if  nothing  happens. 


138 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


Alice,  you  have  that  httle  book  of  Conversations  on  Natu- 
ral Philosophy,  which  you  and  I  used  to  delight  ourselves 
with  in  old  time  ?" 

"  Safe  and  sound  in  the  book-case,"  said  Alice.  "  I  have 
thought  of  giving  it  to  Ellen  before,  but  she  has  been  busy 
enough  with  what  she  had  already." 

"  i  have  done  Rollin  now,  though,"  said  Ellen  ; — "  that  is 
lucky.    I  am  ready  for  the  moon," 

'i'his  new  study  was  begun  the  next  day,  and  Ellen  took 
great  delight  in  it.  She  would  have  run  on  too  fast  in  her 
eagerness  but  for  the  steady  hand  of  her  teacher  ;  he  obliged 
her  to  be  very  thorough.  This  was  only  one  of  her  items  of 
business.  The  weeks  of  John's  stay  were  as  usual  not  merely 
weeks  of  constant  and  varied  delight,  but  of  constant  and  swift 
improvement  too. 

A  good  deal  of  time  was  given  to  the  riding-lessons.  John 
busied  himself  one  morning  in  preparing  a  bar  for  her  on  the 
lawn ;  so  placed  that  it  might  fall  if  the  horse's  heels  touched 
it.  Here  Ellen  learned  to  take  first  standing,  and  then  run- 
ning, leaps.  She  was  afraid  at  first,  but  habit  wore  that  off ; 
and  the  bar  was  raised  higher  and  higher,  till  Margery  de- 
clared she  "  couldn't  stand  and  look  at  her  going  over  it." 
Then  John  made  her  ride  Avithout  the  stirrup,  and  with  her 
hands  behind  her,  while  he,  holding  the  horse  by  a  long  hal- 
ter, made  him  go  round  in  a  circle,  slowly  at  first,  and  after- 
w^ards  trotting  and  cantering,  till  Ellen  felt  almost  as  secure 
on  his  back  as  in  a  chair.  It  took  a  good  many  lessons  how- 
ever to  bring  her  to  this,  and  she  trembled  very  much  at  the 
beginning.  Her  teacher  was  careful  and  gentle,  but  deter- 
mined ;  and  whatever  he  said  she  did,  tremble  or  no  tremble  ; 
and  in  general  loved  her  riding  lessons  dearly. 

Drawing  too  went  on  finely.  He  began  to  let  her  draw 
things  from  nature  ;  and  many  a  pleasant  morning  the  three 
went  out  together  with  pencils  and  books  and  work,  and  spent 
hours  in  the  open  air.  They  would  fir  d  a  pretty  point  of 
view,  or  a  nice  shady  place  where  the  breeze  came,  and  where 
there  was  some  good  old  rock  with  a  tree  beside  it,  or  a 
piece  of  fence,  or  the  house  or  barn  in  the  distance,  for  Ellen 
to  sketch;  and  while  she  drew  and  Alice  worked,  John  read 
aloud  to  them.  Sometimes  he  took  a  pencil  too,  and  Alice 
read ;  and  often,  often,  pencils,  books  and  work  were  all  laid 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


139 


down  ;  and  talk, — lively,  serious,  earnest,  always  delightful, 
— took  the  place  of  them.  When  Ellen  could  not  understand 
the  words,  at  least  she  could  read  the  faces ;  and  that  was  a 
study  she  was  never  weary  of.  At  home  there  were  other 
studies  and  much  reading  ;  many  tea  drinkings  on  the  lawn, 
and  even  breakfastings,  which  she  thought  uploasanter 
still. 

As  soon  as  it  was  decided  that  Mr.  Van  Brunt's  leg  was 
doino-  well,  and  in  a  fair  way  to  be  sound  again,  Ellen  went  to 
see  him  ;  and  after  that  rarely  let  two  days  pass  without  going 
again.  John  and  Alice  used  to  ride  with  her  so  far,  and 
taking  a  turn  beyond  while  she  made  her  visit,  call  for  her  on 
their  way  back.  She  had  a  strong  motive  for  going  in  the 
pleasure  her  presence  always  gave,  both  to  Mr.  Van  Brunt 
and  his  mother.  Sam  Larkens  had  been  to  Thirlwall  and 
seen  Mrs.  Forbes,  and  from  him  they  had  heard  the  story  of 
her  riding  up  and  down  the  town  in  search  of  the  doctor ; 
neither  of  them  could  forget  it.  Mrs.  Van  Brunt  poured  out 
her  affection  in  all  sorts  of  expressions  whenever  she  had 
Ellen's  ear  ;  her  son  was  not  a  man  of  many  words  ;  but  Ellen 
knew  his  face  and  manner  well  enough  without  them,  and  read 
there  whenever  she  went  into  his  room  what  gave  her  great 
pleasure. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Van  Brunt?"  she  said  on  one  of 
these  occasions. 

"  O  I'm  getting  along,  I  s'pose,"  said  he  ; — "getting  along 
as  well  as  a  man  can  that's  lying  on  his  back  from  morning 
to  night ; — prostrated,  as  'Squire  Dennison  said  his  corn  was 
t'other  day." 

"  It  is  very  tiresome,  isn't  it  ?"  said  Ellen. 

"  It's  the  tiresomest  work  that  ever  was,  for  a  man  that  has 
two  arras  to  be  adoing  nothing,  day  after  day.  And  what 
bothers  me  is  the  wheat  in  that  ten-acre  lot,  that  ought  to  be 
prostrated  too,  and  aint,  nor  aint  like  to  be,  as  I  know,  imless 
the  rain  comes  and  does  it.  Sam  and  Johnny  '11  make  no 
head- way  at  all  with  it — I  can  tell  as  well  as  if  I  see  'em." 

"  But  Sam  is  good,  isn't  he  ?"  said  Ellen. 

"  Sam's  as  good  a  boy  as  ever  was ;  but  then  Johnny  Lo\V 
is  mischievous,  you  see,  and  he  gets  Sam  out  of  his  tracks 
once  in  a  while.  I  never  see  a  finer  growth  of  wheat.  I  had 
a  sight  rather  cut  and  harvest  the  hull  of  it  t  ban  to  lie  here 


140 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


and  think  of  it  getting  spoiled.  I'm  a'most  out  o'  conceit  o 
trap-doors,  Ellen," 

Ellen  could  not  help  smiling. 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  Mr.  Van  Brunt  ?" 

"  There  aint  nothing,"  said  he  ; — "  I  wish  there  was.  Ho\f 
are  you  coming  along  at  home  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Ellen  ; — "  I  am  not  there  just  now, 
you  know ;  I  am  staying  up  with  Miss  Alice  again.' 

"  0  ay  !  while  her  brother's  at  home.  He's  a  splendid  man, 
that  young  Mr.  Humphreys,  aint  he?" 

"01  knew  that  a  great  while  ago,"  said,  Ellen,  the  bright 
color  of  pleasure  overspreading  her  face. 

**  Well,  /  didn't,  you  see,  till  the  other  day,  when  he  came 
here,  very  kindly,  to  see  how  I  was  getting  on.  I  wish  some- 
thing would  bring  him  again.  I  never  heerd  a  man  talk  I 
liked  to  hear  so  much. 

Ellen  secretly  resolved  something  should  bring  him  ;  and 
went  on  with  a  purpose  she  had  had  for  some  time  in  her  mind. 

*'  Wouldn't  it  be  pleasant,  while  you  are  lying  there  and  can 
do  nothing, — wouldn't  you  like  to  have  me  read  something  to 
you,  Mr.  Van  Brunt?    /should  like  to,  very  much." 

"It's  just  like  you,"  said  he  gratefully, — "to  think  of 
that ;  but  I  wouldn't  have  you  be  bothered  with  it." 

**  It  wouldn't  indeed.    1  should  like  it  very  much." 

"  W^ell,  if  you've  a  mind,"  said  he  ; — "  I  can't  say  but  it 
would  be  a  kind  o'  comfort  to  keep  that  grain  out  o'  my  head 
a  while.  Seems  to  me  I  have  cut  and  housed  it  all  three 
times  over  already.  Read  just  whatever  you  have  a  mind 
to.  If  you  was  to  go  over  a  last  year's  almanac,  it  would  be 
as  good  as  a  fiddle  to  me." 

"  I'll  do  better  for  you  than  that,  Mr.  Van  Brunt,"  said 
Ellen,  laughing  in  high  glee  at  having  gained  her  point. — 
She  had  secretly  brought  her  Pilgrim's  Progress  with  her,  and 
now  with  marvelous  satisfaction  drew  it  forth. 

"  I  ha'n't  been  as  much  of  a  reader  as  I  had  ought  to," 
said  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  as  she  opened  the  book  and  turned  to 
the  first  page  ; — "  but  however,  I  understand  my  business 
pretty  well ;  and  a  man  can't  be  everything  to  once.  Now 
'et's  hear  what  you've  got  there." 

With  a  throbbing  heart,  Ellen  began  ;  and  read,  notes  and 
all,  till  the  sound  of  tramping  hoofs  and  Alice's  voice  made 


THE  WIDE,  y^IDE  WORLD. 


141 


her  break  off.  It  encouraged  and  delighted  her  to  see  that 
Mr.  Van  Brunt's  attention  was  perfectly  fixed.  He  lay  still, 
without  moving  his  eyes  from  her  face,  till  she  stopped  ;  then 
thanking  her  he  declared  that  was  a  "first-rate  book,"  and  he 
*'  should  like  mainly  to  hear  the  hull  on  it." 

From  that  time  Ellen  was  diligent  in  her  attendance  on 
him.  That  she  might  have  more  time  for  reading  than  the 
old  plan  gave  her,  she  set  off  by  herself  alone  some  time 
before  the  others,  of  course  riding  home  with  them.  It  cost 
her  a  little  sometimes,  to  forego  so  much  of  their  company  ; 
but  she  never  saw  the  look  of  grateful  pleasure  with  which 
she  was  welcomed  without  ceasing  to  regret  her  self-denial. 
How  Ellen  blessed  those  notes  as  she  went  on  with  her  read- 
ing !  They  said  exactly  what  she  wanted  Mr.  Van  Brunt  to 
hear>  and  in  the  best  way,  and  were  too  short  and  simple  to 
interrupt  the  interest  of  the  story.  After  a  while  she  ventured 
to  ask  if  she  might  read  him  a  chapter  in  the  Bible.  He  agreed 
very  readily  ;  owning  "  he  hadn't  ought  to  be  so  k«g  without 
reading  one  as  he  had  been."  Ellen  then  made  it  a  rule 
to  herself,  without  asking  any  more  questions,  to  end  every 
reading  with  a  chapter  in  the  Bible ;  and  she  carefully  sought 
out  those  that  might  be  most  likely  to  take  hold  of  his  judg- 
ment or  feelings.  They  took  hold  of  her  own  very  deeply, 
by  the  means ;  what  was  strong,  or  tender,  before,  now 
seemed  to  her  too  mighty  to  be  withstood ;  and  Ellen  read 
not  only  with  her  hps  but  with  her  whole  heart  the  precious 
words,  longing  that  they  might  come  with  their  just  effect 
upon  Mr.  Van  Brunt's  mind. 

Once  as  she  finished  reading  the  tenth  chapter  of  John,  a 
favorite  chapter,  which  between  her  own  feeling  of  it  and  her 
strong  wish  for  him  had  moved  her  even  to  tears,  she  cast  a 
glance  at  his  face  to  see  how  he  took  it.  His  head  was  a 
little  turned  to  one  side,  and  his  eyes  closed  ;  she  thought 
he  was  asleep.  Ellen  was  very  much  disappointed.  She 
sank  her  head  upon  her  book  and  prayed  that  a  time  might 
come  when  he  would  know  the  worth  of  those  words.  The 
touch  of  his  hand  startled  her. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?"  said  he.    "  Are  you  tired  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Ellen  looking  hastily  up  ; — "  0  no  !  I'm  not 
tired." 


142 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


"  But  what  ails  you  ?"  said  the  astonished  Mr.  Van  Bnint; 
**  wliat  have  you  been  a  crying  for  ?  what's  the  mat- 
ter?" 

"  Oh  never  mind,"  said  Ellen,  brushing  her  hand  over  her 
eyes, — "  it's  no  matter." 

"Yes,  but  I  want  to  know,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt; — 
"  you  shan't  have  anything  to  vex  you  that  /  can  help ; 
what  is  it  ?" 

"  It  is  nothing,  Mr.  Van  Brunt,"  said  Ellen,  bursting  into 
tears  again, — "  only  I  thought  you  were  asleep — I — I 
thought  you  didn't  care  enough  about  the  Bible  to  keep 
awake — 1  want  so  much  that  you  should  be  a  Christian  ! 

He  half  groaned  and  turned  his  head  away. 

"  What  makes  you  wish  that  so  much  ?"  said  he  after  a 
minute  or  two. 

"  Because  I  want  you  to  be  happj^"  said  Ellen, — "  and  I 
know  you  can't  without." 

"  Well,  I  am  pretty  tolerable  happy,"  said  he  ; — "  as  happy 
as  most  folks  1  guess." 

"  But  I  want  you  to  be  happy  when  you  die,  too,"  said 
Ellen  ; — "  I  want  to  meet  you  in  heaven." 

"  1  hope  I  will  go  there,  surely,"  said  he  gravely, — "  when 
the  time  comes." 

Ellen  was  uneasily  silent,  not  knowing  what  to  say. 

"  I  aint  as  good  as  I  ought  to  be,"  said  he  presently, 
with  a  half  sigh  ; — "  I  aint  good  enough  to  go  to  heaven — I 
wish  I  was.     Yon  are,  I  do  beheve." 

"  I !  O  no,  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  do  not  say  that ; — 1  am  not 
good  at  all — I  am  full  of  wrong  things." 

"  Well  I  wish  I  was  full  of  wrong  things  too,  in  the  same 
way,"  said  he. 

"  But  I  am,"  said  Ellen, — "  whether  you  will  believe  it  or 
not.  Nobody  is  good,  Mr.  Van  Brunt.  But  Jesus  Christ 
has  died  for  us, — and  if  we  ask  him  he  will  forgive  us,  and 
wash  away  our  sins,  and  teach  us  to  love  him,  and  make  us 
good,  and  take  us  to  be  with  him  in  heaven.  0  I  wish  you 
would  ask  him  !"  she  repeated  with  an  earnestness  that  went 
to  his  heart.  *'  I  don't  believe  any  one  can  be  very  happy 
that  doesn't  love  him." 

"  Is  that  what  makes  you  happy  ?"  said  he. 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


143 


"  I  have  a  great  many  things  to  make  me  happy,"  said 
Ellen  soberly, — "  but  that  is  the  greatest  of  all.  It  always 
makes  me  happy  to  think  of  him,  and  it  makes  everything 
else  a  thousand  times  pleasanter.  I  wish  you  knew  how  it 
is,  Mr.  Van  Brunt." 

He  was  silent  for  a  little,  and  disturbed  Ellen  thought. 

"  Well !"  said  he  at  leno-th, — "  'taint  the  folks  that  thinks 
themselves  the  best  that  is  the  best  always  ; — if  you  aint 
good  I  should  like  to  know  what  goodness  is.  There's 
somebody  that  thinks  you  be,"  said  he  a  minute  or  two  af- 
terwards, as  the  horses  were  heard  coming  to  the  gate. 

"  No,  she  knows  me  better  than  that,"  said  Ellen. 

"  It  isn't  any  she  that  I  mean,"  said  ISlr.  Van  Brunt. — 
**  There's  somebody  else  out  there,  aint  there  ?" 

"  Who  ?"  said  Ellen, — "  Mr.  John  ? — O  no  indeed  he 
don't.  It  was  only  this  morning  he  was  telling  me  of  some- 
thing I  did  that  was  wrong. — Her  eyes  watered  as  she  spoke. 

"  He  must  have  miglity  sharp  eyes,  then,"  said  Mr.  Van 
Brunt, — *'  for  it  beats  all  m^/  powers  of  seeing  things." 

**  And  so  he  has,"  said  Ellen,  putting  on  her  bonnet, — "  he 
always  knows  what  I  am  thinking  of  just  as  well  as  if  I  told 
him.    Good  bye  !" 

"  Good  bye,"  said  he  ; — "  I  ha'n't  forgotten  w^hat  you've 
been  saying,  and  I  don't  mean  to." 

How  full  of  sweet  pleasure  was  the  ride  home ! 

The  "  something  wrong,"  of  which  Ellen  had  spoken,  was 
this.  The  day  before,  it  happened  that  Mr.  John  had  broken 
her  off  from  a  very  engaging  book  to  take  her  drawing-lesson  ; 
and  as  he  stooped  down  to  give  a  touch  or  two  to  the  piece 
she  was  to  copy,  he  said,  I  don't  want  you  to  read  any 
more  of  that  Ellie  ;  it  is  not  a  good  book  for  you."  Ellen  did 
not  for  a  moment  question  that  he  was  right,  nor  wish  to  dis- 
obey ;  but  she  had  become  very  much  interested,  and  was  a 
good  deal  annoyed  at  having  such  a  sudden  stop  put  to  her 
pleasure.  She  said  nothing,  and  went  on  with  her  work.  In 
a  little  while  Alice  asked  her  to  hold  a  skein  of  cotton  for  her 
while  she  wound  it.  Ellen  was  annoyed  again  at  the  inter- 
ruption ;  the.  harpstrings  were  jarring  yet,  and  gave  fresh 
discord  at  every  touch.  She  had,  however,  no  mind  to  let 
her  vexation  be  seen ;  she  went  immediately  and  held  the 
«otton,  and  as  soon  as  it  was  done  sat  down  again  to  her 


144 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


drawing.  Before  ten  minutes  had  passed  Margery  came  to 
set  the  table  for  dinner;  Ellen's  papers  and  desk  must 
move. 

*'  Why  it  is  not  dinner-time  yet  tliis  great  while,  Margery," 
said  she  ; — "  it  isn't  much  after  twelve." 

"  No,  Miss  Ellen,"  said  Margery  under  her  breath,  for  John 
was  in  one  corner  of  the  room  reading, — "  but  by-and-by  I'll 
be  busy  with  the  chops  and  frying  the  salsify,  and  I  couldn't 
leave  the  kitchen  ; — if  you'll  let  me  have  the  table  now." 

Ellen  said  no  more,  and  moved  her  things  to  a  stand  before 
the  window  ;  where  she  went  on  with  her  copying  till  dinner 
was  ready.  Whatever  the  reason  was,  however,  her  pencil 
did  not  work  smoothly ;  her  eye  did  not  see  true  ;  and  she 
lacked  her  usual  steady  patience.  The  next  morning,  after 
an  hour  and  more's  work  and  much  painstaking,  the  drawing 
was  finished.  Ellen  had  quite  forgotten  her  yesterday's  trou- 
ble. But  when  John  came  to  review  her  drawing,  he  found 
several  faults  with  it ;  pointed  out  two  or  three  places  in 
which  it  had  suffered  from  haste  and  want  of  care  ;  and  asked 
her  how  it  had  happened.  Ellen  knew  it  happened  yesterday. 
She  was  vexed  ao:ain,  thouoh  she  did  her  best  not  to  show  it ; 
she  stood  quietly  and  heard  what  he  had  to  say.  He  then 
told  her  to  get  ready  for  her  riding  lesson. 

"  Mayn't  I  just  make  this  right  first?"  said  Ellen; — "it 
won't  take  me  long." 

"  No,"  said  he, — "  you  have  been  sitting  long  enough  ;  I 
must  break  you  oflf.  The  Brownie  will  be  here  in  ten 
minutes." 

Ellen  was  impatiently  eager  to  mend  the  bad  places  in  her 
drawing,  and  impatiently  displeased  at  being  obliged  to  ride 
first.  Slowly  and  reluctantly  she  went  to  get  ready ;  John 
was  already  gone ;  she  would  not  have  moved  so  leisurely  if 
he  had  been  anywhere  within  seeing  distance.  As  it  was, 
she  found  it  convenient  to  quicken  her  movements ;  and  was 
at  the  door  ready  as  soon  as  he  and  the  Brownie.  She  was 
soon  thoroughly  engaged  in  the  management  of  herself  and 
her  horse  ;  a  little  smart  riding  shook  all  the  ill-humor  out  of 
her,  and  she  was  entirely  herself  again.  Atthe.end  of  fifteen 
or  twenty  minutes  they  drew  up  under  the  shade  of  a  tree  to 
lot  the  Brownie  rest  a  little.  It  was  a  warm  day  and  John 
had  taken  off  his  hat  and  stood  resting  too,  with  his  arm 


THE  WIDE.,  WIDE  WORLD. 


145 


leaning  on  the  neck  of  the  horse.  Presently  he  looked  round 
to  Ellen,  and  asked  her,  with  a  smile,  if  she  felt  right 
again  ? 

"  Why  ?"  said  Ellen,  the  crimson  of  her  cheeks  mounting 
to  her  forehead.  But  her  eye  sunk  immediately  at  the  an- 
swering glance  of  his.  He  then  in  very  few  words  set  the 
matter  before  her,  with  such  a  happy  mixture  of  pointedness 
and  kindness,  that  while  the  reproof,  coming  from  him,  went 
to  the  quick,  Ellen  yet  joined  with  it  no  thought  of  harshness 
or  severity.  She  was  completely  subdued  however ;  the  rest 
of  the  riding-lesson  had  to  be  given  up  ;  and  for  an  hour 
Ellen's  tears  could  not  be  stayed.  But  it  was,  and  John  had 
meant  it  should  be,  a  strong  check  given  to  her  besetting  sin. 
It  had  a  long  and  lasting  effect. 


VOL.  II.  7 


CHAPTER  XL, 


Speed,   But  tell  me  true,  will 't  b.e  a  match  ? 

Laun.    Ask  my  dog  ;  if  he  say,  ay,  it  will ;  if  he  say,  no,  it  will ;  if  he  shake  his  tail 
and  say  nothing,  it  will. — Two  Gentle:(IKn  of  Verona. 

In  due  time  Mr.  Van  Brunt  was  on  his  legs  again,  much 
to  everybody's  joy,  and  much  to  the  advantage  of  fields, 
fences,  and  grain.  Sam  and  Johnny  found  they  must  "  spring 
to,"  as  their  leader  said ;  and  Miss  Fortune  declared  she  was 
thankful  she  could  draw  a  long  breath  again,  for  do  what  she 
would  she  couldn't  be  everywhere.  Before  this  John  and  the 
Black  Prince  had  departed,  and  Alice  and  Ellen  were  left  alone 
again. 

"  How  long  will  it  be,  dear  Alice,"  said  Ellen,  as  they  stood 
sorrowfully  looking  down  the  road  by  which  he  had  gone, — 
**  before  he  will  be  through  that — before  he  will  be  able  to 
leave  Doncaster  ?" 

"  Next  summer." 
And  what  will  he  do  then  ?" 

*'  Then  he  ^vill  be  ordained." 

"  Ordained  ? — what  is  that  ?" 

"  He  will  be  solemnly  set  apart  for  the  work  of  the  min- 
istry, and  appointed  to  it  by  a  number  of  clergymen." 
.    "  And  then  will  he  come  and  stay  at  home,  Alice  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  then,  dear  Ellen,"  said  Alice,  sigh- 
ing ; — "  he  may  for  a  little  ;  but  papa  wishes  A^ery  much- that 
before  he  is  settled  anywhere  he  should  visit  England  and 
Scotland  and  see  our  friends  there.  Though  I  hardly  think 
John  will  do  it  unless  he  sees  some  further  reason  for  going. 
If  he  do  not,  he  will  probably  soon  be  called  somewhere — 
Mr.  Marshman  wants  him  to  come  to  Randolph.  I  don't 
know  how  it  will  be." 

**  Well  !"  said  Ellen,  with  a  kind  of  acquiescing  sigh, — "  at 
any  rate  now  we  must  wait  until  next  Christmas." 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


147 


The  winter  passed  with  httle  to  mark  it  except  the  usual 
visits  to  Ventnor ;  which,  however,  by  common  consent  AHco 
and  Ellen  had  agreed  should  not  be  when  John  was  at  home. 
At  all  other  times  they  were  much  prized  and  enjoyed.  Every 
two  or  three  months  Mr.  Marshman  was  sure  to  come  for 
them,  or  Mr.  Howard,  or  perhaps  the  carriage  only  with  a 
letter ;  and  it  was  bargained  for  that  Mr.  Humphreys  should 
follow  to  see  them  home.  It  was  not  always  that  Ellen 
could  go,  but  the  disappointments  were  seldom  ;  she  too  had 
become  quite  domesticated  at  Ventnor,  and  was  sincerely 
loved  by  the  whole  family.  Many  as  were  the  times  she  had 
been  there,  it  had  oddly  happened  that  she  had  never  met 
her  old  friend  of  the  boat  again  ;  but  she  was  very  much  at- 
tached to  old  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Marshman,  and  Mrs.  Chauncey 
and  her  daughter ;  the  latter  of  whom  reckoned  all  the  rest 
of  her  young  friends  as  nothing  compared  with  Ellen  Mont- 
gomery. Ellen,  in  her  opinion,  did  everything  better  than 
anyone  else  of  her  age. 

"  She  has  good  teachers,"  said  Mrs.  Chauncey. 

"  Yes  indeed  !  I  should  think  she  had.  Alice, — I  should 
think  anybody  would  learn  well  with  her ; — and  Mr.  John — I 
suppose  he's  as  good,  though  I  don't  know  so  much  about 
him  ;  but  he  must  be  a  great  deal  better  teacher  than  Mr. 
Sandford,  mamma,  for  Ellen  draws  ten  times  as  well  as  I  do  !" 

"  Perhaps  that  is  your  fault  and  not  Mr.  Sandford's,"  said  her 
mother, — "  though  1  rather  think  you  overrate  the  difference." 

"  I  am  sure  1  take  pains  enough,  if  that's  all,"  said  the  lit- 
tle girl ; — "  what  more  can  I  do,  mamma  ?  But  Ellen  is  so 
pleasant  about  it  always ;  she  never  seems  to  think  she  does 
better  than  1 ;  and  she  is  always  ready  to  help  me  and  take 
ever  so  much  time  to  show  me  how  to  do  things ; — she  is  so 
pleasant ;  isn't  she,  mamma  ?  I  know  1  have  heard  you  say- 
she  is  very  polite." 

"  She  is  certainly  that,"  said  Mrs.  Gillespie, — '*  and  there 
is  a  grace  in  her  politeness  that  can  only  proceed  from  great 
natural  delicacy  and  refinement  of  character  ; — how  she  can 
have  such  manners,  living  and  working  in  the  way  you  say 
she  does,  I  confess  is  beyond  my  comprehension." 

*'  One  would  not  readily  forget  the  notion  of  good -breeding  in 
the  society  of  AUce  and  John  Humphreys/'  said  Miss  Sophia. 


148 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


*<  And  Mr.  Humphreys,"  said  Mrs.  Chauncey. 

"  There  is  no  society  about  him,"  said  Miss  Sophia  ; — '*  he 
don't  say  two  dozen  'svords  a  day." 

"  But  she  is  not  with  them,"  said  Mrs.  Gillespie. 

"  She  is  with  them  a  great  deal,  aunt  Matilda,"  said  Ellen 
Chauncey, — "  and  they  teach  her  everything,  and  she  does 
learn  !  6he  must  be  very  clever ;  don't  you  think  she  is, 
mamma?  Mamma,  she  beats  me  entirely  in  speaking  French, 
and  she  knows  all  about  English  history  ;  and  arithmetic  ! — 
and  did  you  ever  hear  her  sing,  mamma  ?  ' 

"  I  do  not  beheve  she  beats  you,  as  you  call  it,  in  generous 
estimation  of  others,"  said  Mrs.  Chauncey,  smiling,  and  bend- 
ins;  forward  to  kiss  her  dauohter  ; — "  but  what  is  the  reason 
Ellen  is  so  much  better  read  in  history  than  you  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  mamma,  unless — 1  wish  I  wasn't  so  fond  of 
reading  stories." 

"  Ellen  Montgomery  is  just  as  fond  of  them,  I'll  warrant," 
said  Miss  Sophia. 

"  Yes, — 0  1  know  she  is  fond  of  them  ;  but  then  Alice  and 
Mr.  John  don't  let  her  read  them,  except  nuw  and  then 
one." 

I  fancy  she  does  it  though  when  their  backs  are  turned," 
said  Mrs.  Gillespie. 

"  She  !  0,  aunt  Matilda !  she  wouldn't  do  the  least  thing 
they  don't  like  for  the  whole  world.  1  know  she  never  reads 
a  story  when  she  is  here,  unless  it  is  my  Sunday  books,  without 
asking  Alice  first." 

"  She  is  a  most  extraordinary  child  !"  said  Mrs.  Gillespie. 

"  She  is  a  (/ood  child  !  '  said  Mrs.  Chauncey. 

"  Yes,  mamma,  and  that  is  what  I  wanted  to  say ; — I  do 
not  think  Ellen  is  so  pohte  because  she  is  so  much  with  Ahce 
and  Mr.  John,  but  because  she  is  so  sweet  and  good.  I  don't 
think  she  could  help  being  pohte. 

"  It  is  not  that,"  said  Mrs.  Gillespie  ; — "  mere  sweetness 
and  goodness  would  never  give  so  much  elegance  of  manner. 
As  far  as  1  have  seen,  Ellen  Montgomery  is  a  ^pez/ec/Zy  well- 
behaved  child." 

"  That  she  is,"  said  Mrs.  Chauncey  ; — "  but  neither  would 
any  cultivation  or  example  be  sufficient  for  it  without  Ellen's 
thorough  good  principle  and  great  sweetness  of  temper." 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


149 


**Tliat's  exactly  what  /  think,  mamma,"  said  Ellen  Chaun- 
cey. 

Ellen's  sweetness  of  temper  was  not  entirely  born  with 
her  ;  it  was  one  of  the  blessed  fruits  of  religion  and  discipline. 
Discipline  had  not  done  with  it  yet.  When  the  winter  came 
on,  and  the  house-work  grew  less,  and  with  renewed  vigor 
she  was  bending  herself  to  improvement  in  all  sorts  of  ways, 
it  unluckily  came  into  Miss  P'ortune's  head  that  some  of 
Ellen's  spare  time  might  be  turned  to  account  in  a  new  line. 
With  this  lady,  to  propose  and  to  do  w^ere  two  things  always 
very  near  together.  The  very  next  day  Ellen  was  summoned 
to  help  her  down  stairs  w^ith  the  big  spinning-wheel.  Most 
unsuspiciously,  and  with  her  accustomed  pleasantness,  Ellen 
did  it.  But  when  she  w^as  sent  up  again  for  the  rolls  of  wool ; 
and  Miss  Fortune  after  setting  up  the  wheel,  put  one  of  them 
into  her  hand  and  instructed  her  how  to  draw  out  and  twist 
the  thread  of  yarn,  she  saw  all  that  was  coming.  She  saw  it 
with  dismay.  So  much  yarn  as  Miss  Fortune  might  think  it 
well  she  should  spin,  so  much  time  must  be  taken  daily  from 
her  beloved  reading  and  writing  drawing  and  studying ;  her 
very  heart  sunk  within  her.  She  made  no  remonstrance, 
unless  her  disconsolate  face  miorht  be  thoucjht  one ;  she  stood 
half  a  day  at  the  big  spinning-wheel,  fretting  secretly,  while 
Miss  Fortune  went  round  with  an  inward  chuckle  visible  in 
her .  countenance,  that  in  spite  of  herself  increased  Ellen's 
vexation  And  this  was  not  the  annoyance  of  a  day  ;  she 
must  expect  it  day  after  day  through  the  whole  winter.  It 
was  a  grievous  trial.  Ellen  cried  for  a  great  while  when  she 
got  to  her  own  room,  and  a  long  hard  struggle  was  necessary 
before  she  could  resolve  to  do  her  duty.  "■  To  be  patient  and 
quiet!  — and  spin  nobody  knows  how  much  yarn — and  my 
poor  history  and  philosophy  and  drawing  and  French  and 
reading!" — -Ellen  cried  very  heartily.  But  she  knew  what 
she  ought  to  do ;  she  prayed  long,  humbly,  earnestly,  that 
*'  her  little  rushlight  might  shine  bright ;" — and  her  aunt  had 
no  cause  to  complain  of  her.  Sometimes,  if  overpressed,  Ellen 
would  ask  Miss  P'ortune  to  let  her  stop ;  saying,  as  Alice  had 
advised  her,  that  she  wished  to  have  her  do  such  and  such 
things ;  Miss  Fortune  never  made  any  objection  ;  and  the 
hours  of  spinning  that  wrought  so  many  knots  of  yarn  for 


150 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


her  aunt,  wrouglit  better  things  yet  for  the  httle  spinner : 
patience  and  gentleness  grew  with  the  practice  of  them  ;  this 
wearisome  work  was  one  of  the  many  seemingly  untoward 
things  which  in  reality  bring  out  good.  The  time  Ellen  did 
secure  to  herself  was  held  the  more  precious  and  used  the 
more  carefully.  After  all  it  was  a  very  profitable  and  plea- 
sant winter  to  her. 

John's  visit  came  as  usual  at  the  holidays,  and  was  enjoyed 
as  usual ;  only  that  every  one  seemed  to  Ellen  more  pleasant 
than  the  last.  The  sole  other  event  that  broke  the  quiet 
course  of  things,  (beside  the  journeys  to  Ventnor)  was  the 
death  of  Mrs.  Van  Brunt.  This  happened  very  unexpectedly 
and  after  a  short  illness,  not  far  from  the  end  of  January. 
Ellen  was  very  sorry  ;  both  for  her  own  sake  and  Mr.  Van 
Brunt's,  who  she  was  sure  felt  much,  though  according  to 
his  general  custom  he  said  nothing.  Ellen  felt  for  him  none 
the  less.  She  little  thought  what  an  important  bearing  this 
event  would  have  upon  her  own  future  well-being. 

The  winter  passed  and  the  spring  came.  One  fine  mild 
pleasant  afternoon,  early  in  May,  Mr.  Van  Brunt  came  into 
the  kitchen  and  asked  Ellen  if  she  wanted  to  go  with  him 
and  see  the  sheep  salted.  Ellen  was  seated  at  the  table 
with  a  large  tin  p  m  in  her  lap,  and  before  her  a  huge  heap 
of  white  beans  wliich  she  was  picking  over  for  the  Saturday's 
favorite  dish  of  pork  and  beans.  She  looked  up  at  him  with 
a  hopeless  face. 

"  1  should  like  to  go  veiy  much  indeed,  Mr.  Van  Brunt, 
but  you  see  I  can't.    All  these  to  do !" 

"  Beans,  eh  ?"  said  he,  putting  one  or  two  in  his  mouth. 
"  Where's  your  aunt  ?" 

Ellen  pointed  to  the  buttery.  He  immediately  went  to  the 
door  and  rapped  on  it  with  his  knuckles." 

"  Here  ma'am  !"  said  he, — "  can't  you  let  this  child  go 
with  me  ?  1  want  her  along  to  help  feed  the  sheep." 

To  Ellen's  astonishment  her  aunt  called  to  her  through  the 
closed  door  to  "  go  along  and  leave  the  beans  till  she  came 
back."  Joyfully  Ellen  obeyed.  She  turned  her  back  upon  the 
beans,  careless  of  the  big  heap  wliich  would  still  be  there  to  pick 
over  when  she  returned ;  and  ran  to  get  her  bonnet.  In  all 
the  time  she  had  been  in  Thirlwall  something  had  always 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


151 


prevented  her  seeing  the  slieep  fed  with  salt,  and  she  went 
eagerly  out  of  the  door  with  Mr.  Van  Brunt  to  a  new  plea- 
sure. 

They  crossed  two  or  three  meadows  back  of  the  barn  to 
a  low  rocky  hill  covered  with  trees.  On  the  other  side  of 
this  they  came  to  a  fine  field  of  spring  wheat.  F ootsteps 
must  not  go  over  the  young  grain  ;  Ellen  and  Mr.  Van  Brunt 
coasted  carefully  round  by  the  fence  to  another  piece  of  rocky 
woodland  that  lay  on  the  far  side  of  the  wheat-field.  It  was 
a  veiy  fine  afternoon.  The  grass  was  green  in  the  meadow ; 
the  trees  were  beginning  to  show  their  leaves  ;  the  air  was 
soft  and  spring-like.  In  great  glee  Ellen  danced  along, 
luckily  needing  no  entertainment  from  Mr,  Van  Brunt,  who 
was  devoted  to  his  salt-pan.  His  natural  taciturnity  seemed 
greater  than  ever ;  he  amused  himself  all  the  Avay  over  the 
meadow  with  turaino^  over  his  salt  and  tastino-  it,  till  Ellen 
laughingly  told  him  she  believed  he  was  as  fond  of  it  as  the 
sheep  were ;  and  then  he  took  to  chucking  little  bits  of  it 
right  and  left,  at  anything  he  saw  that  was  big  enough  to 
serve  for  a  mark.  Ellen  stopped  him  again  by  laughing  at 
his  wastefulness  ;  and  so  they  came  to  the  wood.  She  left 
him  then  to  do  as  he  liked,  while  she  ran  hither  and  thither 
to  search  for  flowers.  It  was  slow  getting  through  the  wood. 
He  was  fain  to  stop  and  wait  for  her. 

"  Aren't  these  lovely  ?"  said  Ellen  as  she  came  up  with 
her  hands  full  of  anemones, — "  and  look — there's  the  liverwort. 
I  thought  it  must  be  out  before  now — the  dear  little  thing  ! — 
but  I  can't  find  any  blood-root,  Mr.  Van  Brunt." 

"  I  guess  they're  gone,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt. 

"  I  suppose  they  must,"  said  Ellen.  "  I  am  sorry;  1  like 
them  so  much.  0  1  believe  I  did  get  them  earlier  than  this 
two  years  ago  when  I  used  to  take  so  many  walks  Vr'ith  you. 
Only  think  of  my  not  having  been  to  look  for  flowers  before 
this  spring." 

"  It  hadn't  ought  to  ha'  happened  so,  that's  a  fact,"  said 
Mr.  Van  Brunt.  "I  don't  know  how  it  has." 

"  0  there  are  my  yellow  bells  !"  exclaimed  Ellen ; — "  O 
you  beauties  !    Aren't  they,  Mr.  Van  Brunt  ?" 

"  I  won't  say  but  what  I  think  an  ear  of  wheat's  hand- 
s(  mer,"  said  he  with  his  half  smile. 

"Why  Mr,  Van  Brunt!  how  can  you? — but  an  ear  of 


152 


THE   WIDK,  "WIDK  WOULD. 


wheat's  pretty  too. — 0  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  what  is  that  ?  Do 
get  me  some  of  it,  will  you,  please  ?  0  how  beautiful ! — 
what  is  it  ?" 

"  That's  black  birch,"  said  he  ; — "  'tis  kind  o'  handsome  ; 
— stop,  ril  find  you  some  oak  blossoms  directly. — There's 
some  Solomon's  seal — do  you  want  some  of  that  ?" 

Ellen  sprang  to  it  with  exclamations  of  joy,  and  before  she 
could  rise  from  her  stooping  posture  discovered  some  cowslips 
to  be  scrambled  for.  Wild  columbine,  the  delicate  corydalis, 
and  more  uvularias,  which  she  called  yellow  bells,  were  ad- 
ded to  her  handful,  till  it  grew  a  very  elegant  bunch  indeed. 
Mr.  Van  Brunt  looked  complacently  on,  much  as  Ellen  would 
at  a  kitten  running  round  after  its  tail. 

"Now  I  won't  keep  you  any  longer,  Mr.  Van  Brunt," 
said  she,  when  her  hands  were  as  full  as  they  could  hold  ; — ■ 

i  have  kept  you  a  great  while ;  you  are  very  good  to  wait 
for  me.'' 

They  took  up  their  line  of  march  again,  and  after  crossing 
the  last  piece  of  rocky  woodland  came  to  an  open  hill-side, 
sloping  genftly  up,  at  the  foot  of  w^hich  were  several  large  flat 
stones. 

*•  But  where  are  the  sheep,  Mr.  Van  Brunt  ?"  said  Ellen. 

"  I  guess  they  aint  fur,"  said  he.  "  You  keep  quiet, 
*cause  they  don't  know  you;  and  they  are  mighty  scary. 
Just  stand  still  there  by  the  fence. — Ca-nan !  ca-nan  !  Ca- 
nan,  nan,  nan,  nan,  nan,  nan,  nan !" 

This  w\as  the  sheep  call,  and  raising  bis  voice  Mr.  Van 
Brunt  made  it  sound  abroad  far  over  the  hills.  Again  and 
again  it  sounded  ;  and  then  Ellen  saw  the  white  nose  of  a 
sheep  at  the  edge  of  the  woods  on  the  top  of  the  hilL  On 
the  call's  sounding  again  the  sheep  set  forward,  and  in  a  lonp 
train  they  came  nmning  along  a  narrow  footpath  down  to- 
wards where  Mr.  Van  Brunt  was  standing  with  his  pan.  The 
soft  tramp  of  a  multitude  of  light  hoofs  in  another  directioo 
turned  Ellen's  eyes  that  way,  and  there  were  two  more  sin- 
gle files  of  sheep  running  down  the  hill  from  different  points 
in  the  woodland.  The  pretty  things  came  scampering  along 
seeming  in  a  great  hurry,  till  they  got  very  near  *.  then  the 
whole  multitude  came  to  a  sudden  halt,  and  looked  very  Avist,- 
fully  and  doubtfully  indeed  at  Mr.  Van  Brunt  and  the  s+r^inge 
little  figure  standing  so  still  by  the  fence.    They  sc*^m'^f^  in 


THE  ^\IDE,  ^\IDE  AVORLD. 


153 


great  doubt,  every  sheep  of  them,  whether  Mr.  Van  Brunt 
were  not  a  traitor,  who  had  put  on  a  friend's  voice  and  lured 
them  down  there  with  some  dark  evil  intent,  which  he 
was  going  to  carry  out  by  means  of  that  same  dangerous- 
looking  stranger  by  the  fence.  Ellen  almost  expected  to  see 
tliem  turn  about  and  go  as  fast  as  they  had  come.  But  Mr. 
Van  Brunt  gently  repeating  his  call,  went  quietly  up  to  the 
nearest  stone  and  began  to  scatter  the  salt  upon  it,  full  in 
their  view.  Doubt  was  at  an  end ;  he  had  hung  out  the 
white  flag  ;  they  flocked  down  to  the  stones,  no  longer  at  all 
in  fear  of  double-dealing,  and  crowded  to  get  at  the  salt ;  the 
rocks  where  it  was  strewn  were  covered  with  more  sheep 
than  Ellen  would  have  thought  it  possible  could  stand  upon 
them.  They  were  like  pieces  of  floating  ice  heaped  up  -with 
snow,  or  queen-cakes  with  an  immoderately  thick  frosting. 
It  was  one  scene  of  pushing  and  crowding ;  those  which  had 
not  had  their  share  of  the  feast  forcing  themselves  up  to  get 
at  it,  and  shoving  others  off  in  consequence.  Ellen  was  won- 
derfully pleased.  It  was  a  new  and  pretty  sight,  the  busy 
hustling  crowd  of  gentle  creatures ;  with  the  soft  noise  of 
their  tread  upon  grass  and  stones,  and  the  eager  devouring  of 
the  salt.  She  was  fixed  with  pleasure,  looking  and  listening  ; 
and  did  not  move  till  the  entertainment  was  over,  and  the 
body  of  the  flock  were  carelessly  scattering  here  and  there, 
while  a  few  that  had  perhaps  been  disappointed  of  their 
part  still  lingered  upon  the  stones  in  the  vain  hope  of  yet 
licking  a  little  saltness  from  them. 

"Well,"  said  Ellen,  "I  never  knew  what  salt  was  worth 
before.  How  they  do  love  it !  Is  it  good  for  them,  Mr.  Van 
Brunt  ?" 

"  Good  for  them  ?"  said  he, — "  to  be  sure  it  is  good  for 
them.  There  aint  a  critter  that  walks,  as  I  know,  that  it  aint 
good  for, — 'cept  chickens,  and  it's  very  queer  it  kills  them." 

They  turned  to  go  homeward.  Ellen  had  taken  the  empty 
pan  to  lay  her  flowers  in,  thinking  it  Avould  be  better  for  them 
than  the  heat  of  her  hand  ;  and  greatly  pleased  with  what  she 
had  come  to  see,  and  enjoying  her  walk  as  much  as  it  w^as 
possible,  she  was  going  home  very  happy ;  yet  she  could  not 
help  missing  Mr.  Van  Brunt's  old  sociableness.  He  was  un- 
commonly silent,  even  for  him,  considering  that  he  and  Ellen 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


were  alone  together ;  aifd  she  wondered  what  liad  possessed 
him  with  a  desire  to  cut  down  all  the  young  saphngs  he  came 
to  that  were  large  enough  for  walking  sticks.  He  did  not 
want  to  make  any  use  of  them,  that  Avas  certain,  for  as  fast 
as  he  cut  and  trimmed  out  one  lie  threw  it  away  and  cut  ano- 
ther. Ellen  was  glad  when  they  got  out  into  the  open  fields 
where  there  were  none  to  be  found. 

"  It  is  just  about  this  time  a  year  ago,"  said  she,  "  that 
aunt  Fortune  was  getting  well  of  her  long  fit  of  sickness." 

"  Yes  !"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  with  a  very  profound  air  ; — ■ 
"something  is  always  happening  most  years." 

p]llen  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  this  philosophical  re- 
mark. 

"  I  am  very  glad  nothing  is  happening  this  year,"  said 
she ; — "  I  think  it  is  a  great  deal  pleasanter  to  have  things 
go  on  quietly." 

"  0  something  might  happen  without  hindering  things 
going  on  quietly,  I  s'pose, — miglitn't  it  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Ellen  wondeuingly  ; — "why  Mr.  Yan 
Brunt  what  is  going  to  happen  ?" 

"  I  declare,"  said  he  half  laughing, — "  you're  as  cute  as  a 
razor;  I  didn't  say  there  Avas  anvthing  going  to  happen, 
did  I  ?" 

"  But  is  there  ?"  said  Ellen. 

"  Ha'n't  your  aunt  said  nothing  to  you  about  it  ?" 
"  Whv  no,"  said  Ellen, — "  she  never  tells  me  anything  ; 
what  is  It  ?" 

"Why  the  story  is,"  said  Mr.  Yan  Brunt, — "at  least  I 
know,  for  I've  understood  as  much  from  herself,  that — I  be- 
lieve she's  going  to  be  married  before  long." 

"  She  !"  exclaimed  Ellen.    "  Married  ! — aunt  Fortune  !" 

"  I  believe  so,"  said  ]\Ir.  Yan  Brunt,  making  a  lunge  at  a 
tuft  of  tall  grass  and  pulling  off  two  or  three  spears  of  it, 
which  he  carried  to  his  mouth. 

There  was  a  long  silence,  during  which  Ellen  saw  nothing 
m  earth,  air  or  sky,  and  knew  no  longer  whether  she  was 
passing  through  woodland  or  meadow.  To  frame  words  into 
another  sentence  was  past  her  power.  They  came  in  sight  of 
the  barn  at  length.    She  would  not  have  much  more  time. 

"  Will  it  be  soon,  Mr.  Yan  Bmnt  ?" 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


155 


Why  pretty  soon,  as  soon  as  next  week,  I  guess  ;  so  1 
thought  it  was  time  you  ought  to  be  told.  Do  you  know  to 
who?" 

"  I  don't  know,""  said  Ellen  in  a  low  voice  ; — "  I  couldn't 
help  guessing." 

*'  1  reckon  you've  guessed  about  right,"  said  he,  without 
looking  at  her. 

There  was  another  silence,  during  which  it  seemed  to  Ellen 
tliat  her  thoughts  were  tumbling  head  over  heels,  they  were 
in  such  confusion. 

"  The  short  and  the  long  of  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  as 
they  rounded  the  corner  of  the  barn, — "  we  have  made  up 
our  minds  to  draw  in  the  same  yoke  ;  and  we're  both  on  us 
pretty  go-ahead  folks,  so  I  guess  we'll  contrive  to  pull  the 
cart  along.  1  had  just  as  lieve  tell  you,  Ellen,  that  all  this 
was  as  good  as  settled  a  long  spell  back, — 'afore  ever  you  came 
to  Thirlwall ;  but  I  was  never  agoing  to  leave  my  old  mother 
without  a  home  ;  so  I  stuck  to  her,  and  would,  to  the  end  of 
time,  if  I  had  never  been  married.  But  now  she  is  gone,  and 
there  is  nothing  to  keep  me  to  the  old  place  any  longer.  So 
now  you  know  the  hull  on  it,  and  I  wanted  you  should." 

With  this  particularly  cool  statement  of  his  matrimonial 
views,  Mr,  Van  Brunt  turned  off  into  the  barn-yard,  leaving 
Ellen  to  go  home  by  herself.  She  felt  as  if  she  were  walking  on 
air  while  she  crossed  the  chip-yard,  and  the  very  house  had  a 
seeming  of  unreality.  Mechanically  she  put  her  flowers  in 
water,  and  sat  down  to  finish  the  beans ;  but  the  beans  raio-ht 
have  been  flowers  and  the  flowers  beans  for  all  the  diff'erence 
Ellen  saw  in  them.  Miss  Fortune  and  she  shunned  each 
other's  faces  most  carefully  for  a  long  time ;  Ellen  felt  it 
impossible  to  meet  her  eyes  ;  and  it  is  a  matter  of  great  un- 
certainty which  in  fact  did  first  look  at  the  other.  Other  than 
this  there  was  no  manner  of  diff'erence  in  anything  without  or 
within  the  house.  Mr.  Van  Brunt's  being  absolutely  speech- 
less was  not  a  very  uncommon  thing. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


Poor  little,  pretty,  fluttering  thing, 

Must  we  no  longer  live  together  ? 
And  dost  thou  prune  thy  trembling  wing 

To  take  thy  flight  thou  knowest  not  wh...ier  1 
Prior. 

As  soon  as  she  could  Ellen  carried  this  wonderful  news  to 
Alice,  and  eagerly  poured  out  the  whole  story,  her  walk  and 
all.    She  was  somewhat  disappointed  at  the  calmness  of  her 
•  hearer. 

But  you  don't  seem  half  as  surprised  as  T  expected,  AHce  ; 
I  thought  you  would  be  so  much  surprised." 
"  I  am  not  surprised  at  all,  Ellie." 

"  Not ! — aren't  you  ! — why  did  you  know  anything  of  this 
before  ?" 

"  I  did  not  knoic,  but  I  suspected.  I  thought  it  was  very 
likely.    I  am  very  glad  it  is  so." 

"  Glad  !  are  you  glad  ?  I  am  so  sorry  ; — why  are  you 
glad,  Ahce?" 

"  Why  are  you  sorry,  Ellie  ?" 

"  0  because  ! — I  don't  know — it  seems  so  queer  ! — I  don't 
like  it  at  all.    I  am  very  sorry  indeed," 

'*  For  your  aunt's  sake,  or  for  Mr.  Van  Brunt's  sake?" 
"  What  do  3'ou  mean  ?" 

"  I  mean,  do  you  think  he  or  she  will  be  a  loser  by  the 
bargain  ?" 

"  Why  he,  to  be  sure  ;  I  think  he  will ;  I  don't  think  she 
will.  I  think  he  is  a  great  deal  too  good.  And  besides — I 
wonder  if  he  wants  to  really  ; — it  was  settled  so  long  ago — 
maybe  he  has  changed  his  mind  since." 

"  Have  you  any  reason  to  think  so,  Ellie  ?"  said  Alice 
smiling. 

**  I  don't  know — I  don'*  thmk  he  seemed  particulary  glad." 


THE  ^VID^:,  wide  avorld. 


157 


"  It  will  be  safest  to  conclude  that  Mr.  Van  Brunt  knows 
his  own  mind,  my  dear ;  and  it  is  certainly  pleasantest  for  us 
to  hope  so." 

"  But  then,  besides,"  said  Ellen  with  a  face  of  great  per- 
plexity and  vexation, — I  don't  know — it  don't  seem  right ! 
Uow  can  I  ever — must  1,  do  you  think  I  shall  have  to  call 
him  anything  but  Mr.  Van  Brunt  ?" 

Alice  could  not  help  smiling  again. 

"  What  is  your  objection,  Ellie  ?" 

"Why  because  I  cant! — I  couldn't  do  it,  somehow.  It 
would  seem  so  strange.  Must  I,  Alice  ? — Why  in  the  world 
are  you  glad,  dear  Alice  ?" 

"  It  smooths  my  way  for  a  plan  I  have  had  in  my  head  ; 
you  will  know  by-and-by  why  I  am  glad,  EUie." 

"  Well  I  am  glad  if  you  are  glad,"  said  Ellen  sighing  ; — "  I 
don't  know  why  I  was  so  sorry,  but  I  couldn't  help  it ;  I 
suppose  I  sha'n't  mind  it  after  a  while." 

She  sat  for  a  few  minutes,  musing  over  the  possibility  or 
impossibility  of  ever  forming  her  lips  to  the  words  "  uncle 
Abraham,"  "uncle  Van  Brunt,"  or  barely  "uncle  ;"  her  soul 
rebelled  against  all  three.  "  Yet  if  he  should  think  me  un- 
kind.— then  I  must, — oh  rather  fifty  times  over  than  that !" 
Looking  up,  she  saw  a  change  in  Ahce's  countenance,  and 
tenderly  asked, 

"  What  is  the  matter,  dear  Alice  ?  what  are  you  thinking 
about  ?" 

"  I  am  thinking,  EUie,  how  I  shall  tell  you  something  that 
will  give  you  pain." 

"  Pain !  you  needn't  be  afraid  of  giving  me  pain,"  said 
Ellen  fondly,  throwing  her  arms  around  her  ; — "  tell  me,  dear 
Alice ;  is  it  something  I  have  done  that  is  wrong  ?  what 
is  it?" 

Alice  kissed  her,  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  oh  dear  Alice  !"  said  Ellen,  encircling 
Alice's  head  with  both  her  arms ; — "  Oh  don't  cry  !  do  tell 
me  what  it  is  !"' 

"  It  is  only  sorrow  for  you,  dear  Ellie." 

"  But  why  ?"  said  Ellen  in  some  alarm  ; — "  why  are  you 
sorry  for  me  ?  I  don't  care,  if  it  don't  trouble  you,  indeed  I 
don't !  Never  mind  me  ;  is  it  something  that  troubles  you, 
dear  Alice  ?" 


158 


THP;   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


"  No — except  for  the  effect  it  may  have  on  others." 

"Then  I  can  bear  it,"  said  Ellen; — "you  need  not  be 
afraid  to  tell  me  dear  Alice  ; — what  is  it  ?  don't  be  sorry  for 
me!" 

But  the  expression  of  Alice's  face  was  such  that  she  could 
not  help  being  afraid  to  hear :  she  anxiously  repeated  "  what 
is  it  ?" 

Alice  fondly  smoothed  back  the  hair  from  her  brow,  looking 
herself  somewhat  anxiously  and  somewhat  sadly  upon  the 
uplifted  face. 

"  Suppose  Ellie,"  she  said  at  length, — "  that  you  and  I 
were  taking  a  journey  together — a  troublesome  dangerous 
journey — and  that  /  had  a  way  of  getting  at  once  safe  to  the 
end  of  it ; — would  you  be  willing  to  let  me  go,  and  you  do 
without  me  for  the  rest  of  the  way  ?" 

"  I  would  rather  you  should  take  me  with  you,"  said  Ellen, 
in  a  kind  of  maze  of  wonder  and  fear ; — why  where  are  you 
going,  Alice  ?" 

"  1  think  I  am  going  home,  Ellie, — before  you." 

"  Home  ?"  said  Ellen. 

"  Yes, — home  I  feel  it  to  be  ;  it  is  not  a  strange  land ; 
I  thank  God  it  is  my  home  I  am  going  to." 
Ellen  sat  looking  at  her,  stupified. 

"  It  is  your  home  too,  love,  1  trust,  and  believe,"  said  Alice 
tenderly  ; — "  we  shall  be  together  at  last.  I  am  not  sorry 
for  myself ;  I  only  grieve  to  leave  you  alone, — and  others, — 
but  God  knows  best.    We  must  both  look  to  him." 

"  Why  Alice,"  said  Ellen  starting  up  suddenly, — what  do 
you  mean?  what  do  you  mean? — 1  don't  understand  you — 
what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Do  you  not  understand  me,  Ellie  ?" 

"  But  Alice  ! — but  Alice — dear  Alice — what  makes  you 
say  so  ?  is  there  anything  the  matter  with  you  ? 

"Do  I  look  well,  Ellie?" 

With  an  eye  sharpened  to  painful  keenness,  Ellen  sought 
in  Ahce's  face  for  the  tokens  of  what  she  wished  and  what 
she  feared.  It  had  once  or  twice  lately  flitted  through  her 
mind  that  Alice  was  very  thin,  and  seemed  to  want  her  old 
strength,  whether  in  riding,  or  walking,  or  any  other  exertion  ; 
and  it  had  struck  her  that  the  bright  spots  of  color  in  Alice's 
face  were  just  like  what  her  mother's  cheeks  used  to  wear  in 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


159 


her  last  illness.  These  thoughts  had  just  come  and  gone ; 
but  now  as  she  recalled  them  and  was  forced  to  acknowledge 
the  justness  of  them,  and  her  review  of  Ahce's  face  pressed 
them  home  anew, — hope  for  a  moment  faded.  She  grew 
white,  even  to  her  lips. 

"  My  poor  Ellie  !  my  poor  Ellie  !"  said  Alice,  pressing  her 
little  sister  to  her  bosom, — "  it  must  be !  We  must  say  '  the 
Lord's  will  be  done  — we  must  not  forget  he  does  all  things 
well." 

But  Ellen  rallied  ;  she  raised  her  head  again  ;  she  could 
not  believe  what  Alice  had  told  her.  To  her  mind  it 
seemed  an  evil  too  great  to  happen  ;  it  could  not  be  !  Alice 
saw  this  in  her  look,  and  again  sadly  stroked  the  hair  from 
her  brow.    "  It  must  be,  Ellie,  she  repeated." 

"  But  have  you  seen  somebody  ? — have  you  asked  some- 
body ?"  said  Ellen  ; — "  some  doctor  ?" 

I  have  seen,  and  I  have  asked,"  said  Alice  ; — "  it  was 
not  necessary,  but  T  have  done  both.    They  think  as  I  do." 

"  But  these  Thirlwall  doctors" — 

"  Not  them  ;  I  did  not  apply  to  them.  I  saw  an  excel- 
lent physician  at  Randolph,  the  last  time  I  went  to  Ventnor." 

"  And  he  said — " 

"  As  I  have  told  you." 

Ellen's  countenance  fell — fell. 
It  is  easier  for  me  to  leave  you  than  for  you  to  be 
left, —  I  know  that,  my  dear  little  Ellie  !  You  have  no  rea- 
son to  be  sorry  for  me — I  am  sorry  for  you ;  but  the  hand 
that  is  taking  me  away  is  one  that  will  touch  neither  of  us 
but  to  do  us  good  ; — I  know  that  too.  We  must  both  look 
away  to  our  dear  Saviour,  and  not  for  a  moment  doubt  his 
love.  I  do  not — you  must  not.  Is  it  not  said  that '  he  loved 
Martha,  and  her  sister,  and  Lazarus  ?  '  " 

Yes,"  said  Ellen,  who  never  stirred  her  eyes  from 
Alice's. 

*'  And  might  he  not — did  it  not  rest  with  a  word  of  his  lips, 
to  keep  Lazarus  from  dying,  and  save  his  sisters  from  all  the 
bitter  sorrow  his  death  caused  them  ?" 

Again  Ellen  said  "  yes,"  or  her  lips  seemed  to  say  it. 

"  And  yet  there  were  reasons,  good  reasons,  why  he  should 
not,  little  as  poor  Martha  and  Mary  could  understand  it. — 


160 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


But  had  he  at  all  ceased  to  love  them  when  he  bade  all  that 
trouble  come  ?  Do  you  remember,  Ellie — oh  how  beautiful 
those  words  are  ! — when  at  last  he  arrived  near  the  place,  and 
first  one  sister  came  to  him  with  the  touching  reminder  that 
he  might  have  saved  them  from  this,  and  then  the  other, — 
weeping  and  faUing  at  his  feet,  and  repeating,  *  Lord  if  thou 
hadst  been  here  I' — when  he  saw  their  tears,  and  more,  saw 
the  torn  hearts  that  tears  could  not  ease, — he  even  wept  with 
them  too!  Oh  I  thank  God  for  those  words!  He  saw  rea- 
son to  strike,  and  his  hand  did  not  spare  ;  but  his  love  shed 
tears  for  them  !    and  he  is  just  the  same  now." 

Some  drops  fell  from  Alice's  eyes,  not  sorrowful  ones  ; 
Ellen  had  hid  her  face. 

"  Let  ns  never  doubt  his  love,  dear  Ellie,  and  surely  then 
we  can  bear  whatever  that  love  may  bring  upon  us,  I  do 
trust  it.  I  do  believe  it  shall  be  well  with  them  that  fear 
God.  I  believe  it  will  be  well  for  me  when  I  die, — well  for 
you  my  dear,  dear  Ellie, — well  even  for  my  father" — 

She  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  afraid  to  trust  herself. — 
But  oh,  Eljen  knew  what  it  would  have  been  ;  and  it  sud- 
denly startled  into  life  all  the  load  of  grief  that  had  been  set- 
tling' heavily  on  her  heart.  Her  thouglits  had  not  looked 
that  way  before  ; — now  when  they  did,  this  new  vision  of 
misery  was  too  much  to  bear.  Quite  unable  to  contain  her- 
self, and  unwilling  to  pain  Alice  more  than  she  could  help, 
with  a  smothered  burst  of  feeling  she  sprang  away,  out  of 
the  door,  into  the  woods,  where  she  would  be  unseen  and 
unheard. 

And  there  in  the  first  burst  of  her  agony,  Ellen  almost 
thought  she  should  die.  Her  grief  had  not  now  indeed  the 
goading  sting  of  impatience  ;  she  knew  the  hand  that  gave 
the  blow,  and  did  not  raise  her  own  against  it ;  she  believed 
too  what  Alice  had  been  saying,  and  the  sense  of  it  was,  in  a 
manner,  present  with  her  in  her  darkest  time.  But  her 
spirit  died  within  her  ;  she  bowed  her  head  as  if  she  were 
never  to  lift  it  up  again  ;  and  she  was  ready  to  say  with 
Job,  '*  what  good  is  my  life  to  me  ?" 

It  was  long,  very  long  after,  when  slowly  and  mournfully 
she  came  in  again  to  kiss  Alice  before  going  back  lo  her 
aunt's.    She  would  have  done  i-.  hurriedly  and  turned  away  ; 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  W^ORLD. 


161 


but  Alice  held  her  and  looked  sadly  for  a  minute  into  the 
wo-begone  little  face,  then  clasped  her  close  and  kissed  her 
again  and  again. 

"Oh  Ahce,"  sobbed  Ellen  on  her  neck, — "aren't  you  mis- 
taken ?  maybe  you  are  mistaken  ?" 

"  I  am  not  mistaken,  my  dear  Ellie,  my  own  Ellie,"  said 
Alice's  clear  sweet  voice  ; — "  not  sorry,  except  for  others.  I 
will  talk  with  you  more  about  this.  You  will  be  sorry  for 
me  at  first,  and  then,  I  hope,  you  will  be  glad.  It  is  only 
that  I  am  going  home  a  little  before  you.  Remember  what 
I  was  saying  to  you  a  while  ago.  Will  you  tell  Mr.  Van 
Brunt  I  should  like  to  see  him  for  a  few  minutes  some  time 
when  he  has  leisure  ? — And  come  to  me  early  to-morrow, 
love." 

Ellen  could  hardly  get  home.  Her  blinded  eyes  could 
not  see  where  she  was  stepping ;  and  again  and  again  her 
fullness  of  heart  got  the  better  of  everything  else,  and  un- 
mindful of  the  growing  twilight  she  sat  down  on  a  stone  by 
the  Avayside  or  flung  herself  on  the  ground  to  let  sorrows 
have  full  sway.  In  one  of  these  fits  of  bitter  struggling  with 
pain,  there  came  on  her  mind,  like  a  sunbeam  across  a  cloud, 
the  thought  of  Jesus  weeping  at  the  grave  of  Lazarus.  It 
came  with  singular  power.  Did  he  love  them  so  well? 
thought  Ellen — and  is  he  looking  down  upon  us  with  the  same 
tenderness  even  now  ? — She  felt  that  the  sun  was  shining  still, 
though  the  cloud  might  be  between  ;  her  broken  heart  crept 
to  His  feet  and  laid  its  burden  there,  and  after  a  few  min- 
utes she  rose  up  and  went  on  her  wa}^,  keeping  that  thought 
still  close  to  her  heart.  The  unspeakable  tears  that  Avere 
shed  during  those  few  minutes  were  that  softened  out-pour- 
ing of  the  heart  that  leaves  it  eased.  Very,  very  sorrowful 
as  she  was,  she  went  on  calmly  now  and  stopped  no 
more. 

It  was  getting  dark,  and  a  little  w^ay  from  the  gate,  on 
the  road,  she  met  Mr.  Van  Brunt. 

*'  Why  I  was  beginning  to  get  scared  about  you,"  said  he. 
"  I  was  coming  to  see  where  vou  was.  How  come  you  so 
late  ?" 

Ellen  made  no  answer,  and  as  she  now  came  nearer  and  he 
could  see  more  distinctly,  his  tone  chano-ed. 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


"What's  the  matter  ?"  said  he, — "you  ha'n't  been  well! 
what  has  happened  ?  what  ails  you,  Ellen  ?" 

In  astonishment,  and  then  in  alarm,  he  saw  that  she  was 
unable  to  speak,  and  anxiously  and  kindly  begged  her  to  let 
him  know  what  was  the  matter,  and  if  he  could  do  anything. 
Ellen  shook  her  head. 

"  x\int  Miss  Alice  well  ?"  said  he  ; — "  you  ha'n't  heerd  no 
bad  news  up  there  on  the  hill,  have  you  ?'' 

Ellen  was  not  willing  to  answer  this  question  with  yea  or 
nay.  She  recovered  herself  enough  to  give  him  Alice's  mes- 
sage. 

"  I'll  be  sure  and  go,"  said  he, — "  but  you  ha'n't  told  me 
j'et  what's  the  matter  !    Has  anything  happened  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Ellen; — "  don't  ask  me — she'll  tell  you — don't 
ask  me." 

"  I  guess  I'll  go  up  the  first  thing  in  the  morning  then," 
said  he, — "  before  breakfast." 

"  No,"  said  Ellen, — "  better  not — perhaps  she  wouldn't  be 
up  so  early." 

"  After  breakfast  then, — I'll  go  up  right  after  breakfast. 
I  Avas  agoing  with  the  boys  up  into  that  'ere  wheat  lot,  but 
anyhow  I'll  do  that  first.  They  won't  have  a  chance  to  do 
much  bad  or  good  before  I  get  back  to  them,  I  reckon." 

xVs  soon  as  possible  she  made  her  escape  from  Miss 
Fortune's  eye  and  questions  of  curiosity  which  she  could  not 
bear  to  answer,  and  got  to  her  own  room.  There  the  first 
thing  she  did  was  to  find  the  eleventh  chapter  of  John.  She 
read  it  as  she  never  had  read  it  before, — she  found  in  it  what 
she  had  never  found  before;  one  of  those  cordials  that  none 
but  the  sorrowing  drink.  On  the  love  of  Christ,  as  there 
shown,  little  Ellen's  heart  fastened ;  and  with  that  one 
sweetening  thought  amid  all  its  deep  sadness,  her  sleep  that 
night  might  have  been  envied  by  many  a  luxurious  roller  in 
pleasure. 

At  Alice's  wish  she  immediately  took  up  her  quarters  at 
the  parsonage,  to  leave  her  no  more.  But  she  could  not  see 
much  difference  in  her  from  what  she  had  been  for  several 
weeks  past ;  and  with  the  natural  hopefulness  of  childhood, 
her  mind  presently  almost  refused  to  believe  the  extremity 
of  the  evil  which  had  been  threatened.    Alice  herself  was 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


163 


constantly  cheerful,  and  sought  by  all  means  to  further 
Ellen's  cheerfulness  ;  though  careful  at  the  same  time,  to 
forbid,  as  far  she  could,  the  rising  of  the  hope  she  saw  Ellen 
was  inclined  to  cherish. 

One  evening  they  were  sitting  together  at  the  window, 
looking  out  upon  the  same  old  lawn  and  distant  landscape, 
now  in  all  the  fresh  greenness  of  the  young  spring.  The 
woods  were  not  yet  in  full  leaf;  and  the  light  of  the  setting 
sun  upon  the  trees  bordering  the  other  side  of  the  lawn 
showed  them  in  the  most  exquisite  and  varied  shades  of  color. 
Some  had  the  tender  green  of  the  new  leaf,  some  were  in  the 
red  or  yellow  browns  of  the  half-opened  bud  ;  others  in 
various  stao^es  of  forwardness  mixinfj  all  the  tints  between, 
and  the  evergreens  standing  dark  as  ever,  setting  off  the  deli- 
cate hues  of  the  surrounding  foliage.  This  was  all  softened 
off  in  the  distance ;  the  very  light  of  the  spring  was  mild 
and  tender  compared  with  that  of  other  seasons ;  and  the 
air  that  stole  round  the  corner  of  the  house  and  came  in  at 
the  open  window  was  laden  with  aromatic  fragrance.  Alice 
and  Ellen  had  been  for  some  time  silently  breathing  it  and 
gazing  thoughtfully  on  the  loveliness  that  was  abroad. 

"  I  used  to  think,"  said  Alice, — "  that  it  must  be  a  very 
hard  thing  to  leave  such  a  beautiful  world.  Did  you  ever 
think  so,  Ellie  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Ellen  faintly, — "  I  don't  remember." 

"  I  used  to  think  so,"  said  Alice.  "  But  I  do  not  now, 
Ellie  ;  my  feeling  has  changed. —  Do  you  feel  so  now,  Ellie?" 

"  Oh  why  do  you  talk  about  it,  dear  Alice  ?" 

"  For  many  reasons^  dear  Ellie.  Come  here  and  sit  in  my 
lap  again." 

**  1  am  afraid  you  cannot  bear  it." 

"  Yes  I  can.  Sit  here,  and  let  your  head  rest  where  it 
used  to  ;" — and  Alice  laid  her  cheek  upon  Ellen's  forehead  ; 
— "  you  are  a  great  comfort  to  me,  dear  Ellie." 

"  Oh  Alice,  don't  say  so — you'll  kill  me  !"  exclaimed 
Ellen  in  great  distress. 

"  Why  should  I  not  say  so,  love  ?"  said  Alice  soothingly. 
"  I  like  to  say  it,  and  you  will  be  glad  to  know  it  by-and-by. 
You  are  a  great  comfort  to  me." 

"  And  what  have  you  been  to  me !"  said  Ellen,  weeping 
bitterly. 


161 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD- 


**  What  I  cannot  be  much  longer;  and  I  want  to  accustom 
you  to  think  of  it,  and  to  think  of  it  rightly.  I  want  you  to 
know  that  if  I  am  sorry  at  all  in  the  thought,  it  is  for  the 
sake  of  others,  not  myself.  Ellie,  you  yourself  will  be  glad 
for  me  in  a  little  while  ; — you  will  not  wish  me  back." 

Ellen  shook  her  head. 

"  I  know  you  will  not — after  a  while  ; — and  I  shall  leave 
you  in  good  hands — I  have  arranged  for  that,  my  dear  little 
sister  !" 

The  sorrowing  child  neither  knew  nor  cared  what  she 
meant,  but  a  mute  caress  answered  the  spirit  of  Alice's 
words. 

Look  up  Ellie, — look  out  again.  Lovely — lovely  !  all 
that  is, — but  I  know  heaven  is  a  great  deal  more  lovely. 
Feasted  as  our  eyes  are  Avith  beauty,  I  believe  that  eye  has 
not  seen,  nor  heart  imagined  the  things  that  God  has  pre- 
pared for  them  that  love  him.  You  believe  that,  Ellie  ;  you 
must  not  be  so  very  sorry  that  I  have  gone  to  see  it  a  little 
before  you." 

Ellen  could  say  nothing. 

"  After  all,  Ellie,  it  is  not  beautiful  things  nor  a  beautiful 
world  that  make  people  happy — it  is  loving  and  being  loved  ; 
and  that  is  the  reason  why  1  am  happy  in  the  thought  of 
heaven.  1  shall,  if  he  receives  me,  I  shall  be  with  my 
Saviour  ;  I  shall  see  him  and  know  him,  without  any  of  the 
clouds  tliat  come  between  here.  I  am  often  forgetting  and 
displeasing  him  now, — never  serving  him  well  nor  loving  him 
right.  I  shall  be  glad  to  find  myself  where  all  that  Avill  be 
done  with  for  ever.  I  shall  be  like  him  ! — Why  do  you  cry 
so,  Ellie?"  said  Ahce  tenderly. 

"  I  can't  help  it,  Ahce." 

"  It  is  only  my  love  for  you — and  for  two  more — that 
could  make  me  wish  to  stay  here, — nothing  else  ; — and  I  give 
all  that  up,  because  I  do  not  know  what  is  best  for  you  or 
myself.  And  I  look  to  meet  you  all  again  before  long.  Try 
to  think  of  it  as  1  do,  Ellie." 

"■  But  what  shall  I  do  without  you  ?"  said  poor  Ellen. 

"  I  will  tell  you  Ellie.  You  must  come  here  and  take  m} 
place,  and  take  care  of  those  I  leave  behind  ;  will  you? — and 
they  will  take  care  of  you." 

"  But," — said  Ellen  looking  up  eagerly, — "  aunt  Fortune" — 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


165 


"  I  have  managed  all  that.  Will  you  do  it,  Ellen  ?  I  shall 
feel  easy  and  happy  about  you,  and  far  easier  and  happier 
about  my  father,  if  I  leave  you  established  here,  to  be  to  him 
as  far  as  you  can,  what  I  have  been.  Will  you  promise  me, 
Ellie?" 

In  words  it  was  not  possible ;  but  what  silent  kisses,  and 
the  close  pressure  of  the  arms  round  Alice's  neck  could  say, 
was  said. 

"  I  am  satisfied,  then/'  said  Alice  presently.  "  My  father 
will  be  your  father — think  him  so,  dear  Ellie, — and  I  know 
John  will  take  care  of  you.  And  my  place  will  not  be  empty. 
I  am  very,  very  glad." 

Ellen  felt  her  place  surely  would  be  empty,  but  she  could 
not  say  so. 

"  It  was  for  this  I  was  so  glad  of  your  aunt's  marriage, 
Ellie,"  Ahce  soon  went  on.  "  1  foresaw  she  might  raise  some 
difficulties  in  my  way, — hard  to  remove  perhaps  ; — but  now  I 
have  seen  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  and  he  has  promised  me  that  nothing 
shall  hinder  your  taking  up  your  abode  and  making  your 
home  entirely  here.  Though  1  believe,  Ellie,  he  would  truly 
have  loved  to  have  you  in  his  own  house  " 

1  am  sure  he  would,"  said  Ellen, — "  but  oh  how  much 
rather  "~ 

"  He  behaved  very  well  about  it  the  other  morning, — in  a 
very  manly,  frank,  kind  way, — showed  a  good  deal  of  feeling 
1  think,  too.  He  gave  me  to  understand  that  for  his  own 
sake  he  should  be  extremely  sorry  to  let  you  go  ;  but  he  as- 
sured me  that  nothing  over  which  he  had  any  control  should 
stand  in  the  way  of  your  good." 

"  He  is  verij  kind — he  is  very  good — he  is  always  so,"  said 
Ellen.  "  I  love  Mr.  Van  Brunt  very  much.  He  always  was 
as  kind  to  me  as  he  could  be." 

They  were  silent  for  a  few  minutes,  and  Alice  was  looking 
out  of  the  window  again.  The  sun  had  set,  and  the  coloring 
of  all  without  was  graver.  Yet  it  was  but  the  change  from 
one  beauty  to  another.  The  sweet  air  seemed  still  sweeter 
than  before  the  sun  went  down. 

"  You  must  be  happy,  dear  Ellie,  in  knowing  that  I  am.  I 
am  happy  now.  I  enjoy  all  this,  and  I  love  you  all, — but  1  can 
leave  it  and  can  leave  you, — yes,  both, — for  I  would  see 
Jesus!    He  who  has  taught  me  to  love  him  will  not  forsake 


166 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


me  now.  Goodness  and  mercy  have  followed  me  all  the  days 
of  my  life,  and  I  shall  dwell  in  the  house  of  the  Lord  for  ever. 
I  thank  him  !    0  1  thank  him  !" 

Alice's  face  did  not  belie  her  words,  though  her  eyes  shone 
through  tears. 

Ellie,  dear, — you  must  love  him  with  all  your  heart,  and 
live  constantly  in  his  presence,  I  know  if  you  do  he  will 
make  you  happy,  in  any  event.  He  can  always  give  more 
than  he  takes  away.  0  how  good  he  is  ! — and  what  wretch- 
ed returns  we  make  him  ! — I  was  miserable  when  John  first 
went  away  to  Doncaster ;  1  did  not  know  how  to  bear  it. 
But  now,  Ellie,  I  think  I  can  see  it  has  done  me  good,  and  I 
can  even  be  thankful  for  it.  All  things  are  ours — all  things  ; 
— the  world,  and  life,  and  death  too." 

*'  Alice,"  said  Ellen,  as  well  as  she  could, — you  know 
what  you  were  saying  to  me  the  other  day  ?" 

"  About  what,  love  ?" 

"  That  about — you  know, — that  chapter" — 

*'  About  the  death  of  Lazarus  ?" 

*'  Yes.    It  has  comforted  me  very  much." 

"  So  it  has  me,  Ellie.  It  has  been  exceeding  sweet  to 
me  at  different  times.  Come  sing  to  me, — *  How  firm  a  foun- 
dation.' " 

From  time  to  time  Ahce  led  to  this  kind  of  conversation, 
both  for  Ellen's  sake  and  her  own  pleasure.  Meanwhile  she 
made  her  go  on  with  all  her  usual  studies  and  duties ;  and 
but  for  these  talks  Ellen  would  have  scarce  known  how  to 
believe  that  it  could  be  true  which  she  feared. 

The  wedding  of  Miss  Fortune  and  Mr.  Van  Brunt  was  a 
very  quiet  one.  It  happened  at  far  too  busy  a  time  of  year, 
and  they  were  too  cool  calculators,  and  looked  upon  their 
union  in  much  too  business-like  a  point  of  view,  to  dream  of 
such  a  wild  thing  as  a  wedding-tour,  or  even  resolve  upon  so 
troublesome  a  thing  as  a  wedding-party.  Miss  Fortune 
would  not  have  left  her  cheese  and  butter-making  to  see  all 
the  New  Yorks  and  Bostons  that  ever  were  built ;  and  she 
would  have  scorned  a  trip  to  Randolph.  And  Mr.  Van 
Brunt  would  as  certainly  have  wished  himself  all  the  while 
back  among  his  furrows  and  crops.  So  one  day  they  were 
quietly  married  at  home,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Clark  having  been 
fetched  from  Thirl  wall  for  the  purpose.    Mr.  Van  Brunt 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


167 


would  have  preferred  that  Mr.  Humphreys  should  perform 
the  ceremony  ;  but  Miss  Fortune  was  quite  decided  in  favor 
of  the  Thirlwall  gentleman,  and  of  course  he  it  was. 

The  talk  ran  high  all  over  the  country  on  the  subject  of 
this  marriage,  and  opinions  were  greatly  divided  ;  some  con- 
gratulating Mr.  Van  Brunt  on  having  made  himself  one  of  the 
richest  land-holders  in  town"  by  the  junction  of  ano- 
ther fat  farm  to  his  own  ;  some  pitying  him  for  having  got 
more  than  his  match  wiihin  doors,  and  "  guessing  he'd  miss- 
ed his  reckoning  for  once." 

If  he  has,  then,"  said  Sam  Larkens,  who  heard  some  of 
these  condoling  remarks, — "  it's  the  first  time  in  his  life,  I  can 
tell  you.  If  she  aint  a  little  mistaken,  I  wish  I  mayn't  get  a 
month's  wages  in  a  year  to  come.  I  tell  you,  you  don't  know 
Van  Brunt ;  he's  as  easy  as  anybody  as  long  as  he  don't  care 
about  what  you're  doing ;  but  if  he  once  takes  a  notion  you 
can't  make  him  gee  nor  haw  no  more  than  you  can  our  near 
ox  Timothy  when  he's  out  o'  yoke  ;  and  he's  as  ugly  a  beast 
to  manage  as  ever  1  see  when  he  aint  yoked  up.  Why  bless 
you !  there  ha'n't  been  a  thing  done  on  the  farm  this  five  year 
but  just  what  he  liked — she  don't  know  it.  I've  heerd  her," 
said  Sam  chuckling, — "  I've  heerd  her  atelling  him  how  she 
wanted  this  thing  done,  and  t'other,  and  he'd  just  not  say  a 
word  and  go  and  do  it  right  t'other  way.  It'll  be  a  wonder 
if  somebody  aint  considerably  startled  in  her  calculations  afore 
Bummer's  out." 


CHAPTER  XLII. 


"  She  enjoys  sure  peace  for  evermore, 
As  weather-beaten  ship  arrived  on  happy  shore." 

Spknser. 

It  was  impossible  at  first  to  make  Mr.  Humphreys  believe 
that  Alice  was  right  in  her  notion  about  her  health.  The 
greatness  of  the  evil  was  such  that  his  mind  refused  to  receive 
it,  much  as  Ellen's  had  done.  His  unbelief  however  lasted 
longer  than  hers.  Constantly  with  Alice  as  she  was,  and  talk- 
ing to  her  on  the  subject,  Ellen  slowly  gave  up  the  hope  she 
had  clung  to  ;  though  still,  bending  all  her  energies  to  the 
present  pleasure  and  comfort  of  her  adopted  sister,  her  mind 
shrank  from  looking  at  the  end.  Daily  and  hourly,  in  every 
way,  she  strove  to  be  what  Alice  said  she  was,  a  comfort  to 
her,  and  she  succeeded.  Daily  and  hourly  Alice's  look  and 
smile  and  manner  said  the  same  thing  over  and  over.  It  was 
Ellen's  precious  reward,  and  in  seeking  to  earn  it  she  half  the 
time  earned  another  in  forgetting  herself.  It  was  different 
with  Mr.  Humphreys.  He  saw  much  less  of  his  daughter ; 
and  when  he  was  with  her,  it  was  impossible  for  Alice,  with 
all  her  efforts,  to  speak  to  him  as  freely  and  plainly  as  she  was 
in  the  habit  of  speaking  to  Ellen.  The  consequences  were  such 
as  grieved  her,  but  could  not  be  helped. 

As  soon  as  it  was  known  that  her  health  was  failing,  Sophia 
Marshman  came  and  took  up  her  abode  at  the  parsonage. 
Ellen  was  almost  sorry  ;  it  broke  up  in  a  measure  the  sweet 
and  peaceful  way  of  life  she  and  Alice  had  held  together  ever 
since  her  own  coming.  Miss  Sophia  could  not  make  a  third 
in  their  conversations.  But  as  Alice's  strength  grew  less  and 
she  needed  more  attendance  and  help,  it  was  plain  her  friend's 
being  there  was  a  happy  thing  for  both  Alice  and  Ellen.  Miss 
Sophia  was  active,  cheerful,  untiring  in  her  affectionate  care, 
always  pleasant  in  manner  and  temper  ;  a  very  useful  person 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


169 


in  a  house  where  one  was  ailing.  Mrs.  Yawse  was  often  there 
too,  and  to  her  Ellen  clung,  whenever  she  came,  as  to  a  pillar 
of  strength.  Miss  Sophia  could  do  nothing  to  help  her  ;  Mrs. 
Vawse  could,  a  great  deal. 

Alice  had  refused  to  write  or  allow  others  to  write  to  her 
brother.  She  said  he  was  just  finishing  his  course  of  study 
at  Doncaster  ;  she  would  not  have  him  disturbed  or  broken 
off  by  bad  news  from  home.  In  August  he  would  be  quite 
throuo;h  ;  the  first  of  August  he  would  be  home. 

Before  the  middle  of  June,  however,  her  health  began  to 
fail  much  more  rapidly  than  she  had  counted  upon.  It  became 
too  likely  that  if  she  waited  for  his  regular  return  at  the  first 
of  August  she  would  see  but  little  of  her  brother.  She  at 
last  reluctantly  consented  that  Mrs.  Chauncey  should  write 
to  him  ;  and  from  that  moment  counted  the  days. 

Her  father  had  scarcely  till  now  given  up  his  old  confi- 
dence respecting  her.  He  came  into  her  room  one  morning 
when  just  about  to  set  out  for  Carra-carra  to  visit  one  or  two 
of  his  poor  parishioners. 

"  How  are  you  to-day,  my  daughter  ?"  he  asked  tenderly. 

*'  Easy,  papa, — and  happy,"  said  Alice. 

"  You  are  looking  better,"  said  he.  "  We  shall  have  you 
well  again  among  us  yet." 

There  was  some  sorrow  for  him  in  Alice's  smile,  as  she 
looked  up  at  him  and  answered,  "Yes,  papa, — in  the  land 
where  the  inhabitant  shall  no  more  say  *  1  am  sick.'  " 

He  kissed  her  hastily  and  went  out. 

"  I  almost  wish  I  was  in  your  place,  Alice,"  said  Miss 
Sophia.  I  hope  I  may  be  half  as  happy  when  my  time 
comes." 

"  What  right  have  you  to  hope  so,  Sophia  ?"  said  Alice, 
rather  sadly. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  the  other,  after  a  pause,  "  you  have 
been  ten  times  as  good  as  1.  1  don't  wonder  you  feel  easy 
when  you  look  back  and  think  how  blameless  your  life  has 
been."' 

"  Sophia,  Sophia  !"  said  Alice, — "  you  know  it  is  not  that.  I 
never  did  a  good  thing  in  my  life  that  was  not  mixed  and 
spoiled  with  evil.    I  never  came  up  to  the  full  measure  of 
duty  in  any  matter." 
VOL.  II.  8 


170 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


"  But  surely,"  said  Miss  Sophica, — ''if  one  does  tlic  best 
one  can,  it  will  be  accepted?" 

'*  It  won't  do  to  trust  to  that,  Sophia.  God's  law  requires  per- 
fection ;  and  nothing  less  than  perfection  will  be  received  as 
payment  of  its  demand.  If  you  owe  a  hundred  dollars,  and 
your  creditor  will  not  hold  you  quit  for  anything  less  than  the 
whole  sum,  it  is  of  no  manner  of  signification  whether  you  offer 
him  ten  or  twenty." 

"  Why  according  to  that,"  said  Miss  Sophia,  "  it  makes  no 
difference  what  kind  of  life  one  leads." 

Alice  sighed  and  shook  her  head. 

"  The  fruit  shows  what  the  tree  is.  Love  to  God  will  strive 
to  please  him — always." 

"  And  is  it  of  no  use  to  strive  to  please  him  ?" 

"  Of  no  manner  of  use,  if  you  make  that  your  trusts 

"  Well  I  don't  see  what  one  is  to  trust  to,"  said  Miss 
Sophia, — "  if  it  isn't  a  good  hfe." 

*'  I  will  answer  you,"  said  Alice,  with  a  smile  in  which  there 
was  no  sorrow, — "  in  some  words  that  I  love  very  much,  of  an 
old  Scotchman,  I  think  ; — '  I  have  taken  all  my  good  deeds 
and  all  my  bad,  and  have  cast  them  together  in  a  heap  before 
the  Lord  ;  and  from  them  all  I  have  fled  to  Jesus  Christ,  and 
in  him  alone  I  have  sweet  peace.'  " 

Sophia  was  silenced  for  a  minute  by  her  look. 

*'  Well,"  said  she,  "  I  don't  understand  it ;  that  is  what 
George  is  always  talking  about ;  but  I  can't  understand 
him." 

"  I  am  vei-y  sorry  you  cannot,"  said  Alice  gravely. 

They  were  both  silent  for  a  little  while. 

"  If  all  Christians  were  like  you,"  said  Miss  Sophia,  "  I 
might  think  more  about  it ;  but  they  are  such  a  dull  set ; 
there  seems  to  be  no  life  nor  pleasure  among  them." 

Alice  thought  of  the  lines, — 

Their  pleasures  rise  to  things  unseen, 

Beyond  the  bounds  of  time  ; 
Where  neither  eyes  nor  ears  have  been, 

Nor  thoughts  of  morials  climb. 

"  You  judge,"  said  she,  "  like  the  rest  of  the  world,  of 
that  which  they  see  not.  After  all,  they  know  best  wheth- 
er they  are  happy.    What  do  you  think  of  Mrs.  Vawse?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  think  of  her ;  she  is  wonderful 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


to  me  ;  she  is  past  my  comprehension  entirely.  Don't  make 
her  an  example." 

"  No,  religion  has  done  that  for  me.  What  do  you  think 
of  your  brother  ?" 

"George?  —  He\s  happy, — there  is  no  doubt  of  that ;  he 
is  the  happiest  person  in  the  family,  by  all  odds  ;  but  then — 
I  think  he  has  a  natural  knack  at  being  happy  ; — it  is  im- 
possible for  anything  to  put  him  out." 

Alice  smiled  and  shook  her  head  again. 
Sophistry,  Sophia.    What  do  you  think  of  me  ?" 

"  I  don't  see  what  reason  you  have  to  be  anything  but 
happy." 

"  What  have  I  to  make  me  so  ?" 

Sophia  was  silent.    Alice  laid  her  thin  hand  upon  hers. 

•*  I  am  leaving  all  I  love  in  this  world.  Should  I  be  hap- 
py if  I  were  not  going  to  somewhat  I  love  better  ?  Should 
I  be  happy  if  I  had  no  secure  prospect  of  meeting  with  them 
again  ? — or  if  I  were  doubtful  of  my  reception  in  that  place 
whither  I  hope  to  go  ?" 

Sophia  burst  into  tears.  "  Well  I  don't  know,"  said  she ; 
*'  I  suppose  you  are  right ;  but  I  don't  understand  it." 

Alice  drew  her  face  down  to  hers  and  whispered  some- 
thing in  her  ear. 

Undoubtedly  Ahcehad  much  around  as  well  as  within  her 
to  make  a  declining  life  happy.  Mrs.  Vawse  and  Miss 
Marshman  were  two  friends  and  nurses  not  to  be  surpassed, 
in  their  different  ways.  Margery's  motherly  affection,  her 
zeal,  and  her  skill,  left  nothing  for  heart  to  wish  in  her  line 
of  duty.  And  all  that  affection,  taste,  and  kindness,  with 
abundant  means,  could  supply  was  at  Ahce's  command.  Still 
her  greatest  comfort  was  Ellen.  Her  constant  thoughtful 
care ;  the  thousand  tender  attentions,  from  the  roses  daily 
gathered  for  her  table  to  the  chapters  she  read  and  the 
hymns  she  sung  to  her  ;  the  smile  that  often  covered  a  pang  ; 
the  pleasant  words  and  tone  that  many  a  time  came  from  a 
sinking  heart ;  they  were  Alice's  daily  and  nightly  cordial. 
Ellen  had  learned  self-command  in  more  than  one  school ; 
affection,  as  once  before,  was  her  powerful  teacher  now,  and 
taught  her  well.  Sophia  openly  confessed  that  Ellen  was 
the  best  nurse ;  and  Margery  when  nobody  heard  her,  mut- 
tered blessings  on  the  child's  head. 


172 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


Mr.  niunphreys  came  in  often  to  see  his  daughter,  but 
never  stayed  long.  It  was  plain  he  could  not  bear  it.  It 
might  have  been  difficult  too  for  Alice  to  bear,  but  she 
wished  for  her  brother.  She  reckoned  the  time  from  Mrs. 
Chauncey's  letter  to  that  when  he  might  be  looked  for  ;  but 
some  irregularities  in  the  course  of  the  Post  Office  made  it 
impossible  to  count  with  certainty  upon  the  exact  time  of 
his  arrival.  Meanwhile  her  failure  was  very  rapid.  Mrs. 
Vawse  began  to  fear  he  would  not  arrive  in  time. 

The  weeks  of  June  ran  out ;  the  roses,  all  but  a  few  late 
kinds,  blossomed  and  died  ;  July  came. 

One  morning  when  Ellen  went  into  her  room,  Alice  drew 
her  close  to  her  and  said,  "  You  remember,  Elhe,  in  the 
Pilgrim's  Progress,  when  Christiana  and  her  companions  were 
sent  for  to  go  over  the  river  ? — I  think  the  messenger  has 
come  for  me.  You  must'n't  cry,  love  ; — hsten — this  is  the 
token  he  seems  to  bring  me, — '  I  have  loved  thee  with  an 
everlasting  love.'  I  am  sure  of  it  Ellie  ;  I  have  no  doubt  of 
it; — so  don't  cry  forme.  You  have  been  my  dear  comfort, 
my  blessing — we  shall  love  each  other  in  heaven,  Ellie." 

Alice  kissed  her  earnestly  several  times,  and  then  Ellen 
escaped  from  her  arms  and  fled  away.  It  was  long  before 
she  could  come  back  again.  But  she  came  at  last ;  and  went 
on  through  all  that  day  as  she  had  done  for  weeks  before. 
The  day  seemed  long,  for  every  member  of  the  family  was 
on  the  watch  for  John's  arrival,  and  it  was  thouQ^ht  his  sister 
would  not  live  (o  see  another.  It  wore  away ;  hour  after 
hour  passed  without  his  coming ;  and  the  night  fell.  Alice 
showed  no  impatience,  but  she  evidently  wished  and  watched 
for  him  ;  and  Ellen,  whose  affection  read  her  face  and  knew 
what  to  make  of  the  look  at  the  opening  door, — the  eye 
turned  toward  the  window, — the  attitude  of  listening, — grew 
feverish  with  her  intense  desire  that  she  should  be  gratified. 

From  motives  of  convenience,  Alice  had  moved  up  stairs 
to  a  room  that  John  generally  occupied  when  he  was  at 
home ;  directly  over  the  sitting-room,  and  with  pleasant 
windows  toward  the  East.  Mrs.  Chauncey,  Miss  Sophia,  and 
Mrs.  Vawse,  were  all  there.  Alice  w^as  lying  quietly  on  the 
bed,  and  seemed  to  be  dozing ;  but  Ellen  noticed,  after 
lights  were  brought,  that  every  now  and  then  she  opened 
her  eyes  and  gave  an  inquiring  look  round  the  room.  Ellen 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


173 


could  not  bear  it ;  slipping  softly  out  she  went  down  stairs 
and  seated  herself  on  the  threshold  of  the  glass  door,  ns  if 
by  watching  there  she  could  be  any  nearer  the  knowledge 
of  what  she  wished  for. 

It  was  a  perfectly  still  summer  night.  The  moon  shone 
brightly  on  the  little  lawn  and  poured  its  rays  over  Ellen, 
just  as  it  had  done  one  well-remembered  evening  near  a  year 
ago.  Ellen's  thoughts  went  back  to  it.  How  like  and  how 
unlike  !  All  around  was  just  the  same  as  it  had  been  then  ; 
the  cool  moonlight  upon  the  distant  fields,  the  trees  in  the 
gap  lit  up,  as  then,  the  lawn  a  flood  of  brightness.  But 
there  was  no  happy  party  gathered  there  now  ; — they  were 
scattered.  One  was  away  ;  one  a  sorrowful  watcher  alone 
in  the  moonlight ; — one  waiting  to  be  gone  where  there  is  no 
need  of  moon  or  stars  for  evermore.  Ellen  almost  wondered 
they  could  shine  so  bright  upon  those  that  had  no  heart  to 
rejoice  in  them  ;  slie  thought  they  looked  down  coldly  and 
unfeelingly  upon  her  distress.  She  remembered  the  Avhip- 
poor-will ;  none  was  heard  to-night,  near  or  far  ;  she  was 
glad  of  it ;  it  would  have  been  too  much  ; — and  there  were  no 
fluttering  leaves  ;  the  air  was  absolutely  still.  Ellen  looked 
up  again  at  the  moon  and  stars.  They  shone  calmly  on, 
despite  the  reproaches  she  cast  upon  them ;  and  as  she  still 
gazed  up  towards  them  in  their  piu'ity  and  steadfastness,  other 
thoughts  began  to  come  into  her  head  of  that  which  was 
more  pure  still,  and  more  steadfast.  How  long  they  have 
been  shining,  thought  Ellen  ; — going  on  just  the  same  from 
night  to  night  and  from  year  to  year, — as  if  they  never  would 
come  to  an  end.  But  they  ivUl  come  to  an  end — the  time 
ivill  come  when  they  will  stop  shining — bright  as  they  are  ; 
and  then,  when  all  they  are  swept  away,  then  heaven  will  be 
only  begun ;  that  will  never  end ! — never.  And  in  a  few 
years  we  who  Avere  so  happy  a  year  ago  and  are  so  sorry 
now,  shall  be  all  glad  together  there, — this  will  be  all  over ! 
And  then  as  she  looked,  and  the  tears  sprang  to  her 
thoughts,  a  favorite  hymn  of  Alice's  came  to  her  remem- 
brance. 

Ye  stars  are  but  the  shining  dust 

Of  my  divine  abode  ; 
The  pavements  of  those  heavenly  courts 

Where  I  shall  see  my  God. 


174 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


The  Father  of  eternal  lights 

Shall  there  his  beams  display  ; 
And  not  one  moment's  darkness  mix 

With  that  unvaried  day. 

"  Not  one  moment's  darkness  !"  "  Oh,"  thought  litttle  El- 
len,— "  there  are  a  great  many  here  !" — Still  gazing  up  at  the 
bright  calm  heavens,  while  the  tears  ran  fast  down  her  face,  and 
fell  into  her  lap,  there  came  trooping  through  Ellen's  mind 
many  of  tliose  ^vords  she  had  been  in  the  habit  of  reading  to 
her  mother  and  Alice,  and  which  she  knew  and  loved  so  well. 

"And  there  shall  be  no  night  there;  and  they  need  no 
candle,  neither  light  of  the  sun ;  for  the  Lord  God  giveth 
them  light :  and  they  shall  reign  for  ever  and  ever.  And 
there  shall  be  no  more  curse,  but  the  throne  of  God  and  of 
the  Lamb  shall  be  in  it ;  and  his  servants  shall  serve  him  : 
and  they  shall  see  his  face  ;  and  his  name  shall  be  in  their 
foreheads.  And  God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  their 
eyes ;  and  there  shall  be  no  more  death,  neither  sorrow,  nor 
crying,  neither  shall  there  be  any  more  pain  :  for  the  former 
things  have  passed  away. 

"  And  if  I  go  and  prepare  a  place  for  you,  I  will  come 
again  and  receive  you  unto  myself ;  that  where  I  am,  there 
ye  may  be  also." 

While  Ellen  was  yet  going  over  and  over  these  precious 
things,  with  a  strong  sense  of  their  preciousness  in  all  her 
throbbing  grief,  there  came  to  her  ear  through  the  perfect 
stillness  of  the  night  the  faint,  far-off,  not-to-be-mistaken, 
sound  of  quick-coming  horse's  feet, — nearer  and  nearer  every 
second.  It  came  with  a  mingled  pang  of  pain  and  pleasure, 
both  very  acute  ;  she  rose  instantly  to  her  feet,  and  stood 
pressing  her  hand  to  her  heart  while  the  quick  measured  beat 
of  hoofs  grew  louder  and  louder,  until  it  ceased  at  the  very 
door.  The  minutes  were  few  ;  but  they  were  moments  of 
intense  bitterness.  The  tired  horse  stooped  his  head,  as  the 
rider  flung  himself  from  the  saddle  and  came  to  the  door 
where  Ellen  stood  fixed.  A  look  asked,  and  a  look  answered, 
the  question  that  lips  could  not  speak.  Ellen  only  pointed 
the  way  and  uttered  the  words,  "  up  stairs and  John 
rushed  thither.  He  checked  himself  however  at  the  door  oi 
the  room,  and  opened  it  and  went  in  as  calmly  as  if  he  had 
but  come  from  a  walk.    But  his  caution  was  very  needless. 


THE  'SVIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


Alice  knew  his  step,  she  knew  his  horse  s  step,  too  well ;  she 
had  raised  herself  up  and  stretched  out  both  arms  towards 
him  before  he  entered.  In  another  moment  they  were  round 
his  neck,  and  she  was  supported  in  his.  There  was  a  long, 
long  silence. 

"Are  you  happy,  Ahce  ?"  whispered  her  brother. 
Perfectly.    This  was  all  I  w^anted.    Kiss  me,  dear  John." 

As  he  did  so,  again  and  again,  she  felt  his  tears  on  her 
cheek,  and  put  up  her  hand  to  his  face  to  w4pe  them  away ; 
kissed  him  then,  and  then  once  again  laid  her  head  on  his 
breast.  They  remained  so  a  little  while  without  stirring ; 
except  that  some  whispers  were  exchanged  too  low  for  others 
to  hear,  and  once  more  she  raised  her  face  to  kiss  him.  A 
few  minutes  after  those  who  could  look  saw  his  color  change  ; 
he  felt  the  arms  unclasp  their  hold  ;  and  as  he  laid  her  gently 
back  on  the  pillow  they  fell  languidly  down  ;  the  will  and 
the  power  that  had  sustained  them  were  gone.  Alice  was 
gone  ;  but  the  departing  spirit  had  left  a  ray  of  brightness 
on  its  earthly  house  ;  there  was  a  half  smile  on  the  sweet 
face,  of  most  entire  peace  and  satisfaction.  Her  brother 
looked  for  a  moment, — closed  the  eyes, — kissed,  once  and 
again,  the  sweet  lips, — and  left  the  room. 

Ellen  saw  him  no  more  that  night,  nor  knew  how  he  passed 
it.  For  her,  wearied  with  grief  and  excitement,  it  was  spent 
in  long  heavy  slumber.  From  the  pitch  to  w^iich  her  spirits 
had  been  w^rought  by  care,  sorrow,  and  self-restraint,  they 
now  suddenly  and  completely  sank  down  ;  naturally,  and 
happily,  she  lost  all  sense  of  trouble  in  sleep. 

When  sleep  at  last  left  her,  and  she  stole  down  stairs  into 
the  sitting-room  in  the  morning,  it  was  rather  early.  Nobody 
was  stirring  about  the  house  but  herself.  It  seemed  de- 
serted ;  the  old  sitting-room  looked  empty  and  forlorn ;  the 
stillness  was  oppressive.  Ellen  could  not  bear  it.  Softly 
opening  the  glass  door  she  went  out  upon  the  lawn  w^here 
everything  was  sparkling  in  the  early  freshness  of  the  summer 
morning.  How  could  it  look  so  pleasant  without,  when  all 
pleasantness  was  gone  within  ? — It  pressed  upon  Ellen's  heai-t. 
With  a  restless  feeling  of  pain,  she  went  on,  round  the  corner 
of  the  house,  and  paced  slowly  along  the  road  till  she  came 
to  the  foot-path  that  led  up  to  the  place  on  the  mountain 
John  had  called  the  Bridge  of  the  Nose.    Ellen  took  that 


176 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


path,  often  traveled  and  much  loved  by  her ;  and  slowly,  and 
with  slow-dripping  tears,  made  her  way  up  over  moss  wet 
■with  the  dew,  and  the  stones  and  rocks  with  which  the  rough 
way  was  strewn.  She  passed  the  place  where  Alice  had  first 
found  her, — she  remembered  it  well ; — there  was  the  very 
stone  beside  which  they  had  kneeled  together,  and  where 
Ahce's  folded  hands  were  laid.  Ellen  knelt  down  beside  it 
again,  and  for  a  moment  laid  her  cheek  to  the  cold  stone 
while  her  arms  embraced  it,  and  a  second  time  it  was  watered 
with  tears.  She  rose  up  again  quickly  and  went  on  her  way, 
toiling  up  the  steep  path  beyond,  till  she  turned  the  edge  of 
the  mountain  and  stood  on  the  old  place  where  she  and  Alice 
that  evening  had  watched  the  setting  sun.  Many  a  setting 
sun  they  had  watched  from  thence ;  it  had  been  a  favorite 
pleasure  of  them  both  to  run  up  there  for  a  few  minutes 
before  or  after  tea  and  see  the  sun  go  down  at  the  far  end  of 
the  long  valley.  It  seemed  to  Ellen  one  of  Ahce's  haunts ; 
she  missed  her  there ;  and  the  thought  went  keenly  home 
that  there  she  would  come  with  her  no  more.  She  sat  down 
on  the  stone  she  called  her  own,  and  leaning  her  head  on 
Alice's  which  was  close  by,  she  wept  bitterly.  Yet  not  very 
long  ;  she  was  too  tired  and  subdued  for  bitter  weeping ;  she 
raised  her  head  again,  and  w^iping  away  her  tears  looked 
abroad  over  the  beautiful  landscape.  Never  more  beautiful 
than  then. 

The  early  sun  filled  the  valley  with  patches  of  light  and 
shade.  The  sides  and  tops  of  the  hills  looking  towards  the 
east  were  bright  with  the  cool  brightness  of  the  morning ; 
beyond  and  between  them  deep  shadows  lay.  The  sun  could 
not  yet  look  at  that  side  of  the  mountain  where  Ellen  sat, 
nor  at  the  long  reach  of  ground  it  screened  from  his  view, 
stretching  from  the  mountain  foot  to  the  other  end  of  the 
valley ;  but  to  the  left,  between  that  and  the  Cat's  back,  the 
rays  of  the  sun  streamed  through,  touching  the  houses  of  the 
village,  showing  the  lake,  and  making  every  tree  and  barn  and 
clump  of  wood  in  the  distance  stand  out  in  bright  relief. 
Deliciously  cool,  both  the  air  and  the  light,  thougli  a  warm 
day  was  promised.  The  night  had  wept  away  all  the  heat  of 
yesterday.  Now,  the  air  was  fresh  with  the  dew  and  sweei 
from  hayfield  and  meadow ;  and  the  birds  were  singing  like 
mad  all  around.    There  was  no  answering  echo  in  the  httle 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


177 


human  heart  that  looked  and  hstened.  Ellen  loved  all  these 
things  too  Avell  not  to  notice  them  even  now  ;  she  felt  their 
full  beauty  ;  but  she  felt  it  sadly.  ''She  will  look  at  it  no 
more  !"  she  said  to  herself.  But  instantly  came  an  answer  to 
her  thought ; — "  Behold  I  create  new  heavens,  and  a  new 
earth  ;  and  the  former  shall  not  be  remembered,  nor  come  into 
mind.  Thy  sun  shall  no  more  go  down ;  neither  shall  thy 
moon  withdraw  itself :  for  the  Lord  shall  be  thine  everlasting 
light,  and  the  days  of  thy  mourning  shall  be  ended."  . 

"  She  is  there  now,''  thought  Ellen, — "  she  is  happy, — 
why  should  I  be  sorry  for  her  ?  I  am  not ;  but  oh  !  1  must 
be  sorry  for  myself — Oh  Alice  1 — dear  Alice  !" 

She  wept ;  but  then  again  came  sweeping  over  her  mind 
the  words  with  which  she  was  so  familiar, — "  the  days  of  thy 
mourning  shall  be  ended  ;"  and  again  with  her  regret  mingled 
the  consciousness  that  it  must  be  for  herself  alone.  And  for  her- 
self,— "  Can  1  not  trust  Him  whom  she  trusted  ?"  she  thought. 
Somewhat  soothed  and  more  calm,  she  sat  still  looking  down 
into  the  brightening  valley  or  off  to  the  hills  that  stretched 
away  on  either  hand  of  it ;  when  up  through  the  still  air  the 
sound  of  the  little  Carra-carra  church  bell  came  to  her  ear. 
It  rang  for  a  minute  and  then  stopped. 

It  crossed  Ellen's  mind  to  wonder  what  it  could  be  ringing 
for  at  that  time  of  day ;  but  she  went  back  to  her  musings 
and  had  entirely  forgotten  it,  when  again,  clear  and  full 
through  the  stillness  the  sound  came  pealing  up. 

"  One— two !" 

Ellen  knew  now  !    It  went  through  her  very  heart. 

It  is  the  custom  in  the  country  to  toil  the  church  bell  upon 
occasion  of  the  death  of  any  one  in  tlfe  township  or  parish. 
A  few  strokes  are  rung  by  way  of  drawing  attention;  these 
are  followed  after  a  little  pause  by  a  single  one  if  the  knell  i? 
for  a  man,  or  two  for  a  woman.  Then  another  short  pause. 
Then  follows  the  number  of  the  years  the  person  has  lived, 
told  in  short,  rather  slow  strokes,  as  one  would  count  them 
up.  After  pausing  once  more  the  tolling  begins,  and  is  kept 
up  for  some  time ;  the  strokes  following  in  slow  and  sad  sue- 
cession,  each  one  being  permitted  to  die  quite  away  before 
another  breaks  upon  the  ear. 

Ellen  had  been  told  of  this  custom,  but  habit  had  never 
made  it  familiar.  Only  once  she  had  happened  to  hear  this 
8* 


178 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


notice  of  death  given  out ;  and  that  was  long  ago ;  the  bell 
could  not  be  heard  at  Miss  Fortune's  house.  It  came  upon 
her  now  Avith  all  the  force  of  novelty  and  surprise.  As  the 
number  of  the  years  of  Alice's  life  was  sadly  told  out,  every 
stroke  was  to  her  as  if  it  fell  upon  a  raw  nerve.  Ellen  hid 
her  face  in  her  lap  and  tried  to  keep  from  counting,  but  she 
could  not ;  and  as  the  tremulous  sound  of  the  last  of  the 
twenty-four  died  away  upon  the  air,  she  was  shuddering  from 
head  io  foot.  A  burst  of  tears  relieved  her  when  the  sound 
ceased. 

Just  then  a  voice  close  beside  her  said  low,  as  if  the  speak- 
er might  not  trust  its  higher  tones, — "  I  will  lift  up  mine  eyes 
unto  the  hills,  from  whence  cometh  my  help  !  ' 

How  differently  that  sound  struck  upon  Ellen's  ear  !  With 
an  indescribable  air  of  mingled  tenderness,  weariness,  and  sor- 
row, she  slowly  rose  from  her  seat  and  put  both  her  arms 
round  the  speaker's  neck.  Neither  said  a  word  ;  but  to  Ellen 
the  arm  that  held  her  was  more  than  all  words  ;  it  was  the 
dividing  line  between  her  and  the  world, — on  this  side  every- 
thing, on  that  side  nothing. 

No  word  was  spoken  for  many  minutes. 

*'  My  dear  Ellen,"  said  her  brother  softly, — "  how  came  you 
here?" 

" I  don't  know,"  whispered  Ellen, — "there  was  nobody 
there — I  couldn't  stay  in  the  house." 
Shall  we  go  home  now  ?"  , 
"  0  yes — whenever  you  please. 

But  neither  moved  yet.  Ellen  had  raised  her  head  ;  she 
still  stood  with  her  arm  upon  her  brother's  shoulder  ;  the 
eyes  of  both  were  on  the  scene  before  them ;  the  thoughts  of 
neither.    He  presently  spoke  again. 

"  Let  us  try  to  love  our  God  better,  EUie,  the  less  we  have 
left  to  love  in  this  world  ; — that  is  his  meaning — let  sorrow 
but  bring  us  closer  to  him.  Dear  Alice  is  well  —she  is  well, 
— and  if  ive  are  made  to  suffer,  we  know  and  we  love  the 
hand  that  has  done  it, — do  w  e  not  EUie  ?" 

Ellen  put  her  hands  to  her  face ;  she  thought  her  heart 
would  break.  He  gently  drew  her  to  a  seat  on  the  stone 
beside  him,  and  still  keeping  his  arm  round  her,  slowly  and 
soothingly  went  on — 

Think  that  she  is  happy  ; — think  that  she  is  safe  ; — think 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


179 


that  she  is  with  that  blessed  One  whose  face  we  seek  at  a 
distance, — satisfied  with  his  hkeness  instead  of  wearily  strug- 
gling with  sin  ; — think  that  sweetly  and  easily  she  has  got 
home  ;  and  it  is  our  home  too.  We  must  weep,  because  we 
are  left  alone  ;  but  for  her — *  I  heard  a  voice  from  heaven 
saying  unto  me,  Blessed  are  the  dead  that  die  in  the  Lord  !'  " 

As  he  spoke  in  low  and  sweet  tones,  Ellen's  tears  calmed 
and  stopped  ;  but  she  still  kept  her  hands  to  her  face. 

"  Shall  we  go  home,  Ellie  ?"  said  her  brother  after  another 
silence.  She  rose  up  Instantly  and  said  yes.  But  he  held 
her  still,  and  looking  for  a  moment  at  the  tokens  of  watching 
and  grief  and  care  in  her  countenance,  he  gently  kissed  the 
pale  little  face,  adding  a  word  of  endearment  which  almost 
broke  Ellen's  heart  again.  Then  taking  her  hand  they  went 
down  the  mountain  together. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 


"  I  have  seen  angels  by  the  sick  one's  pillow  ; 

Theirs  was  the  soft  tone  and  the  soundless  tread, 
Where  smitten  hearts  were  drooping  like  the  willow, 
They  stood  '  between  the  living  and  the  dead.'  " 

Unknown. 

The  whole  Marsbman  family  arrived  to-day  from  Ventnor ; 
Bome  to  see  Alice's  loved  remains,  and  all  to  follow  them  tc 
the  grave.  The  parsonage  could  not  hold  so  many ;  the  two 
Mr.  Marshman's  therefore,  with  Major  and  Mrs.  Gillespie, 
made  their  quarters  at  Thirlwall.  Margery's  hands  were  full 
enough  with  those  tliat  w^ere  left. 

In  the  afternoon  however  she  found  time  for  a  visit  to  the 
room,  the  room.  She  was  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  bed, 
gazing  on  the  sweet  face  she  loved  so  dearly,  when  Mrs. 
Chauncey  and  Mrs,  Vawse  came  up  for  the  same  purpose. 
All  three  stood  some  time  in  silence. 

The  bed  was  strewn  with  flowers,  somewhat  singularl}^  dis- 
posed. Upon  the  pillow,  and  upon  and  about  the  hands  which 
were  folded  on  the  breast,  were  scattered  some  of  the  rich  late 
roses, — roses  and  rose-buds,  strewn  with  beautiful  and  pro- 
fuse carelessness.  A  single  stem  of  white  lilies  lay  on  the  side 
of  the  bed  ;  tlie  rest  of  the  flowers,  a  large  quantity,  covered 
the  feet,  seeming  to  have  been  flung  there  w^ithout  any  attempt 
at  arrangement.  They  w^ere  of  various  kinds,  chosen  however 
with  exquisite  taste  and  feeling.  Beside  the  roses,  there  were 
none  that  were  not  either  white  or  distinguished  for  their 
fragrance.  The  delicate  white  verbearer,  the  pure  feverfew, 
mignonette,  sweet  geranium,  white  myrtle,  the  rich-scented 
heliotrope,  were  mingled  with  the  late-blossoming  damask 
and  purple  roses  ;  no  yellow  flowers,  no  purple,  except  those 
mentioned ;  even  the  flaunting  petunia,  though  white,  had 
been  left  out  by  the  nice  hand  that  had  pulled  them.  But 


TIIK    WIDr.     WIDL:  WORLD. 


181 


the  aiTanging  of  these  beauties  seemed  to  have  been  httle 
more  tlian  attempted ;  though  indeed  it  might  be  questioned 
whether  the  finest  art  could  have  bettered  the  effect  of  what 
the  over-tasked  hand  of  affection  had  left  half  done.  Mis 
Chauncey  however  after  a  while  began  slowly  to  take  a 
flower  or  two  from  the  foot  and  place  them  on  other  parts  of 
the  bed. 

"  Will  Mrs.  Chauncey  pardon  my  being  so  bold,"  said 
Margery  then,  who  had  looked  on  with  no  pleasure  while 
this  "was  doing, — "  but  if  she  had  seen  when  those  flowers  were 
put  there, — it  wouldn't  be  her  wish,  I  am  sure  it  wouldn't  be 
her  wish,  to  stir  one  of  them." 

Mrs.  Chauncey 's  hand,  which  was  stretched  out  for  a  fourth, 
drew  back. 

"  Why  who  put  them  here  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Miss  Ellen,  ma'am. 

"  Where  is  Ellen  ?" 

"  1  think  she  is  sleeping,  ma'am.  Poor  child  !  she's  the 
most  wearied  of  us  all  with  sorrow  and  watching,"  said 
Margery  weeping. 

"  You  saw  her  bring  them  up,  did  you  ?" 

"  I  saw  her,  ma'am.  0  will  I  ever  forget  it  as  long  as  I 
live!" 

"  Why  ?"  said  Mrs.  Chauncey  gently. 

"  It's  a  thing  one  should  have  seen,  ma'am,  to  understand. 
I  don't  know  as  I  can  tell  it  well." 

Seeing  however  that  Mrs.  Chauncey  still  looked  her  wish, 
Margery  went  on,  half  under  her  breath. 

"  Why  ma'am,  the  way  it  was, — 1  had  come  up  to  get  some 
linen  out  of  the  closet,  for  I  had  watched  my  time  ;  Mrs. 
Chauncey  sees,  I  was  afeard  of  finding  Mr.  John  here,  and  I 
knew  he  was  lying  down  just  then,  so  — " 

"  Lying  down,  was  he  ?"  said  Mrs.  Vawse.  "  I  did  not 
know  he  had  taken  any  rest  to-day.', 

"  It  was  very  little  he  took,  ma'am,  indeed,  though  there 
was  need  enough  I  am  sure  ; — he  had  been  up  with  his  father 
the  live-long  blessed  nioht.  And  then  the  first  thing  this 
morning  he  was  away  after  Miss  Ellen,  poor  child  !  wherever 
she  had  betaken  herself  to ;  I  happened  to  see  her  before 
anybody  was  out,  going  round  the  corner  of  the  house,  and 
«o  I  knew  when  he  asked  me  for  her." 


182 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


"  Was  she  going  after  flowers  then      said  Mrs.  Chaun 
cey. 

0  no,  ma'am, — it  was  a  long  time  after ;  it  was  this 
morning  some  time. — I  had  come  up  to  the  linen  closet, 
knowing  Mr.  John  was  in  his  room,  and  I  thought  I  was 
safe ;  and  I  had  just  taken  two  or  three  pieces  on  my  arm, 
you  know,  ma'am,  when  somehow  I  forgot  mj^self,  and  for- 
got what  I  had  come  for,  and  leaving  what  I  should  ha'  been 
a  doing,  I  was  standing  there,  looking  out  this  way  at  the 
dear  features  I  never  thought  to  see  in  death — and  I  had 
entirely  forgotten  what  I  was  there  for,  ma'am, — when  I 
heard  Miss  Ellen's  little  footstep  coming  softly  up  stairs.  I 
didn't  want  her  to  catch  sight  of  me  just  then,  so  I  had  just 
drew  myself  back  a  bit,  so  as  I  could  see  her  without  her 
seeing  me  back  in  the  closet  where  I  was.  But  it  had  like 
to  have  got  the  better  of  me  entirely,  ma'am,  when  I  see  her 
come  in  with  a  lap  full  of  them  flowers,  and  looking  so  as  she 
did  too  !  but  with  much  trouble  I  kept  quiet.  She  went  up 
and  stood  by  the  side  of  the  bed,  just  where  Mrs.  Chauncey 
is  standing,  with  her  sweet  sad  little  face, — it's  the  hardest 
thing  to  see  a"  child's  face  to  look  so, — and  the  flowers  all 
gathered  up  in  her  frock.  It  was  odd  to  see  her,  she  didn't 
cry, — not  at  all, — only  once  I  see  her  brow  wrinkle,  but  it 
seemed  as  if  she  had  a  mind  not  to,  for  she  put  her  hand  up 
to  her  face  and  held  it  a  little,  and  then  she  began  to  take 
out  the  flowers  one  by  one,  and  she'd  lay  a  rose  here  and  a 
rose-bud  there,  and  so  ;  and  then  she  went  round  to  the  other  * 
side  and  laid  the  lilies,  and  two  or  three  more  roses  there  on 
the  pillow.  But  I  could  see  all  the  while  it  was  getting  too 
much  for  her ;  I  see  very  soon  she  wouldn't  get  through  ;  she 
just  placed  two  or  three  more,  and  one  rose  there  in  that  hand, 
and  that  was  the  last.  I  could  see  it  working  in  her  face ; 
she  turned  as  pale  as  her  lilies  all  at  once,  and  just  tossed  up 
all  the  flowers  out  of  her  frock  on  to  the  bed-foot  there, — 
that's  just  as  they  fell, — and  down  she  went  on  her  knees,  and 
her  face  in  her  hands  on  the  side  of  the  bed.  I  thought  no 
more  about  my  linen,"  said  Margery  weeping, — "  I  couldn't 
do  anything  but  look  at  that  child  kneeling  there,  and  her 
flowers, — and  all  beside  her  she  used  to  call  her  sister,  and 
that  couldn't  be  a  sister  to  her  no  more;  and  she's  without  a 
sister  now  to  be  sure,  poor  child  !" 


THE  WIDEj  WIDE  WORLD. 


183 


"  She  has  a  brotlicr,  unless  I  am  mistaken,"  said  Mrs. 
Chauncey,  when  she  could  speak. 

"  And  that's  just  what  I  was  going  to  tell  you,  ma'am. 
She  had  been  there  five  or  ten  minutes  without  moving,  or 
more — I  am  sure  I  don't  know  how  long  it  was,  I  didn't  think 
how  time  went, — when  the  first  thing  I  knew  1  heard  another 
step,  and  Mr.  John  came  in.  I  thought,  and  expected,  he 
Avas  taking  some  sleep  ;  but  I  suppose,"  said  Margery  sigh- 
ing, "he  couldn't  rest.  I  knew  his  step  and  just  drew  myself 
back  further.  He  came  just  where  you  are,  ma'am,  and  stood 
with  his  arms  folded  a  long  time  looking.  I  don't  know  how 
Miss  Ellen  didn't  hear  him  come  in  ;  but  however  she  didn't  ; 
— and  they  were  both  as  still  as  death,  one  on  one  side,  and 
the  other  on  the  other  side.  And  I  wondered  he  didn't  see 
her;  but  her  white  dress  and  all — and  I  suppose  he  hud  no 
thought  but  for  one  thing.  I  knew  the  first  minute  he  did  see 
her,  Avhen  he  looked  over  and  spied  her  on  the  other  side  of 
the  bed  ; — I  see  his  color  change  ;  and  then  his  mDuth  took 
the  look  it  always  did  whenever  he  sets  himself  to  do  any- 
thing. He  stood  a  minute,  and  then  he  went  round,  and 
knelt  down  beside  of  her,  and  softly  took  away  one  of  her  hands 
from  under  her  face,  and  held  it  in  both  of  his  own,  and  then 
he  made  such  a  prayer  !-^0h,"  said  Margery,  her  tears  fall- 
ing fast  at  the  recollection, — "  I  never  heard  the  like  !  I  never 
did.  He  gave  thanks  for  Miss  Alice,  and  he  had  reason 
enough  to  be  sure, — and  for  himseljf  and  Miss  Ellen — I  won- 
dered to  hear  him  ! — and  he  prayed  for  them  too,  and  others, 
— and — oh  I  thought  I  couldn't  stand  and  hear  him  ;  and  I 
was  afeard  to  breathe  the  whole  time,  lest  he  would  know  I 
was  there.  It  was  the  beautifullest  prayer  I  did  ever  hear, 
or  ever  shall,  however." 

"  And  how  did  Ellen  behave  ?"  said  Mrs.  Chauncey  when 
she  could  speak. 

"  She  didn't  stir,  nor  make  the  least  motion  nor  sound,  till 
he  had  done,  and  spoke  to  her.  They  stood  a  little  while 
then,  and  Mr.  John  put  the  rest  of  the  flowers  up  there  round 
her  hands  and  the  pillow, — Miss  Ellen  hadn't  put  more  than 
half  a  dozen  ; — I  noticed  how  he  kept  hold  of  Miss  Ellen's 
hand  all  the  time.  I  heard  her  begin  to  tell  him  how  she 
didn't  finish  the  flowers,  and  he  told  her,  '  I  saw  it  all,  Ellie,' 
he  said  ;  and  he  said  '  it  didn't  want  finishing.'    I  wondered 


184 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


how  he  should  see  it,  but  I  suppose  he  did,  however.  1 
understood  it  very  welL  They  went  away  down  stairs  after 
that." 

"  He  is  beautifully  changed,"  said  Mrs.  Vawse. 

"  I  don't  know,  ma'am,"  said  Margery, — "  I've  heard  that 
said  afore,  but  I  can't  say  as  I  ever  could  see  it.  He  always 
was  the  same  to  me — always  the  honorablest,  truest,  noblest 
— my  husband  says  he  was  a  bit  fiery,  but  1  never  could  tell 
that  the  one  temper  was  sweeter  than  the  other  ;  only  every- 
body always  did  whatever  Mr.  John  wanted,  to  be  sure  ;  but 
he  was  the  perfectest  gentleman,  always." 

"  I  have  not  seen  either  Mr.  John  or  Ellen  since  my  mother 
came,"  said  Mrs.  Chauncey. 

"No,  ma'am,"  said  Margery, — "they  were  out  reading 
under  the  trees  for  a  long  time  ;  and  Miss  Ellen  came  in  the 
kitchen-way  a  little  while  ago  and  went  to  lie  down." 

"  How  is  Mr.  Humphreys  ?" 

"01  can't  tell  you,  ma'am, — he  is  worse  than  any  one 
knows  of  I  am  afraid,  unless  Mr.  John  ;  you  will  not  see  him, 
ma'am ;  he  has  not  been  here  once,  nor  don't  mean  to,  I 
think.  It  will  go  hard  with  my  poor  master,  I  am  afraid," 
said  Margery  weeping; — "dear  Miss  Ahce  said  Miss  Ellen 
"was  to  take  her  place ;  but  it  would  want  an  angel  to  do 
that." 

"  Ellen  will  do  a  great  deal,"  said  Mrs.  Vawse; — "Mr. 
Humphreys  loves  her  well  now,  I  know." 

"  So  do  I,  ma'am,  I  am  sure ;  and  so  does  every  one  ;  but 
still—" 

Margery  broke  off  her  sentence  and  sorrowfully  went  down 
stairs.    Mrs.  Chauncey  moved  no  more  fluwers. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day  Margery  came  softly 
into  Ellen's  room. 

"Miss  Ellen,  dear,  you  are  awake,  aren't  you?" 

"  Yes,  Margery,"  said  Ellen,  sitting  up  on  the  bed  ; — "  come 
in.    What  is  it  ?" 

"  I  came  to  ask  Miss  Ellen  if  she  could  do  me  a  great  favor ; 
— there's  a  strange  gentleman  come,  and  nobody  has  seen 
him  yet,  and  it  don't  seem  right.  He  has  been  here  this  some 
time." 

"  Have  you  told  Mr.  John  ?" 

**  No,  Miss  Ellen  ;  he's  in  the  library  with  my  master ;  and 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


185 


somehow  I  durstn't  go  to  the  door  ;  mayhap  they  wouldn't  be 
best  pleased.  Woiild  Miss  Ellen  mind  telling  Mr.  John  of 
the  gentleman's  being  here  ?" 

Ellen  would  mind  it  ver}^  much,  there  was  no  doubt  of 
that ;  Margery  could  hardly  have  asked  her  to  put  a  greater 
force  upon  herself ;  she  did  not  say  so. 

"  You  are  sure  he  is  there,  Margery  ?"  • 
I  am  quite  sure,  Miss  Ellen.    I  am  very  sorry  to  distui  b 
you ;  but  if  you  wouldn't  mind — T  am  ashamed  to  have  the 
gentleman  left  to  himself  so  long." 

"  I'll  do  it,  Margery." 

She  got  up,  shpped  on  her  shoes,  and  mechanically  smooth- 
ing her  hair,  set  off  to  the  library.  On  the  way  she  almost 
repented  her  willingness  to  oblige  Margery  ;  the  errand  was 
marvelous  disagreeable  to  her.  She  had  never  gone  to  that 
room  except  with  Ahce  ;  never  entered  it  uninvited.  She  could 
hardly  make  up  her  mind  to  knock  at  the  door.  But  she  had 
promised  ;  it  must  be  done. 

The  first  fearful  tap  was  too  hght  to  arouse  any  mortal 
ears.  At  the  second,  though  not  much  better,  she  heard  some 
one  move,  and  John  opened  the  door.  Without  waiting  to 
hear  her  speak  he  immediately  drew  her  in,  very  unwillingly 
on  her  part,  and  led  her  silently  up  to  his  father.  The  old 
gentleman  was  sitting  in  his  great  study-chair  with  a  book 
open  at  his  side.  He  turned  from  it  as  she  came  up,  took 
her  hand  in  his,  and  held  it  for  a  few  moments  without  speak- 
ing.   Ellen  dared  not  raise  her  eyes. 

**  My  little  girl,"  said  he  very  gravely,  though  not  without 
a  tone  of  kindness  too, — "  are  you  coming  hereto  cheer  my 
loneliness  ?" 

Ellen  in  vain  struggled  to  speak  an  articulate  word. ;  it 
was  impossible  ;  she  suddenly  stooped  down  and  touched 
her  lips  to  the  hand  that  lay  on  the  arm  of  the  chair.  He 
put  the  hand  tenderly  upon  her  head. 

"God  bless  you,"  said  he,  "abundantly,  for  all  the  love 
you  showed  her.  Come, — if  you  will, — and  be,  as  far  as  a 
withered  heart  will  let  you,  all  that  she  wished.  All  is 
yours — except  what  will  be  buried  with  her." 

Ellen  was  awed  and  pained,  very  much.  Not  because  the 
words  and  manner  wei-e  sad  and  solemn ;  it  was  the  font 
that  distressed  her.    There  was  no  tearfulness  in  it;  ii 


186 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


trembled  a  little  ;  it  seemed  to  come  indeed  from  a  withered 
heart.  She  shook  with  the  effort  she  made  to  control  her- 
self.   John  asked  her  presently  w^hat  she  had  come  for. 

"A  gentleman,"  said  Ellen, — "there's  a  gentleman — a 
stranger  " — 

He  went  immediatel}^  out  to  see  him,  leaving  her  standing 
there.  Ellen  did  not  know  whether  to  go  too  or  stay ;  she 
thought  from  his  not  taking  her  with  him  he  wished  her  to 
stay  ;  she  stood  doubtfully.  Presently  she  heard  steps  com- 
ing back  along  the  hall — steps  of  two  persons — the  door 
opened,  and  the  strange  gentleman  came  in.  No  stranger 
to  Ellen !  she  knew  him  in  a  moment ;  it  was  her  old  friend, 
her  friend  of  the  boat, — Mr.  George  Marshman. 

Mr.  Humphreys  rose  up  to  meet  him,  and  the  two  gentle- 
men shook  hands  in  silence.  Ellen  had  at  first  shrunk  out 
of  the  way  to  the  other  side  of  the  room,  and  now  when 
she  saw  an  opportunity  she  was  going  to  make  her  escape  ; 
but  John  gently  detained  her ;  and  she  stood  still  by  his  side, 
thouo-h  with  a  kind  of  feelino-  that  it  was  not  there  the  best 
place  or  time  for  her  old  friend  to  recognize  her.  He  was 
sitting  by  Mr.  Humphreys  and  for  the  present  quite  occupied 
with  him.  Ellen  thought  nothing  of  what  they  were  saying  ; 
with  eyes  eagerly  fixed  upon  Mr.  Marshman  she  was  reading 
memory's  long  story  orer  again.  The  same  pleasant  look 
and  kind  tone  that  she  remembered  so  well  came  to  com- 
fort her  in  her  first  sorrow, — the  old  way  of  speaking,  and 
even  of  moving  an  arm  or  hand,  the  familiar  figure  and  face ; 
how  they  took  Ellen's  thoughts  back  to  the  deck  of  the 
steamboat,  the  hymns,  the  talks  ;  the  love  and  kindness  that 
led  and  persuaded  her  so  faithfully  and  effectually  to  do  her 
duty ; — it  was  all  present  again  ;  and  Ellen  gazed  at  him  as 
at  a  picture  of  the  past,  forgetting  for  the  moment  every- 
thinor  else.  The  same  love  and  kindness  were  endeavorino- 
now  to  say  something  for  Mr.  Humphreys'  relief ;  it  was  a 
hard  task.  The  old  gentleman  heard  and  answered,  for  the 
most  part  briefly,  but  so  as  to  show  that  his  friend  labored 
in  vain  ;  the  bitterness  and  hardness  of  grief  were  unallayed 
yet.  It  was  not  till  John  made  some  slight  remark  that  Mr. 
Marshman  turned  his  head  that  way  ;  he  looked  for  a  mo- 
ment in  some  surprise,  and  then  said,  his  countenance  light- 
ening, "  Is  that  Ellen  Montgomery  ?" 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


187 


Ellen  sprang  across  at  that  word  to  take  his  out-stretched 
hand.  But  as  she  felt  the  well  remembered  grasp  of  it,  and 
met  the  old  look  the  thought  of  which  she  had  treasured  up 
for  years, — it  was  too  much.  Back  as  in  a  flood  to  her  heart, 
seemed  to  come  at  once  all  the  thoughts  and  feelings  of  the 
time  since  then  ; — the  difference  of  this  meeting  from  the  joy- 
ful one  she  had  so  often  pictured  to  herself ;  the  sorrow  of 
that  time  mixed  with  the  sorrow  now ;  and  the  sense  that  the 
very  hand  that  had  wiped  those  first  tears  away  was  the  one 
now  laid  in  the  dust  by  death.  All  thronged  on  her  heart 
at  once  ;  and  it  was  too  much.  She  had  scarce  touched  Mr. 
Marshman's  hand  when  she  hastily  withdrew  her  own,  and 
gave  way  to  an  overwhelming  burst  of  sorrow.  It  was  in- 
fectious. There  was  such  an  utter  absence  of  all  bitterness 
or  hardness  in  the  tone  of  this  grief ;  there  was  so  touching 
an  expression  of  submission  mingled  with  it,  that  even  Mr. 
Humphreys  was  overcome.  Ellen  was  not  the  only  subdued 
weeper  there;  not  the  only  one  whose  tears  came  from  a 
broken-up  heart.  For  a  few  minutes  the  silence  of  stifled 
sobs  was  in  the  room,  till  Ellen  recovered  enough  to  make 
her  escape ;  and  then  the  color  of  sorrow  was  hghtened,  in 
one  breast  at  least. 

"  Brother,"  said  Mr.  Humphreys, — "  I  can  hear  you  now 
better  than  I  could  a  little  while  ago.  I  had  almost  forgot- 
ten that  God  is  good.  '  Light  in  the  darkness  ;' — I  see  it 
now.'    That  child  has  given  me  a  lesson." 

Ellen  did  not  know  what  had  passed  around  her,  nor 
what  had  followed  her  quitting  the  room.  But  she  thought 
when  John  came  to  the  tea-table  he  looked  relieved.  If  his 
general  kindness  and  tenderness  of  manner  toward  herself 
could  have  been  greater  than  usual,  she  might  have  thought 
it  was  that  night ;  but  she  only  thought  he  felt  better. 

Mr.  Marshman  was  not  permitted  to  leave  the  house.  He 
was  a  great  comfort  to  everybody.  Not  himself  overbur- 
dened with  sorrow,  he  was  able  to  make  that  effort  for  the 
good  of  the  rest  which  no  one  yet  had  been  equal  to. 
The  whole  family,  except  Mr.  Humphi-eys,  were  gathered 
together  at  this  time  ;  and  his  grave  cheerful  unceasing  kind 
ness  made  that  by  far  the  most  comfortable  meal  that  had 
been  taken.  It  was  exceeding  grateful  to  Ellen  to  see  and 
aear  him,  from  the  old  remembrance  as  well  as  the  present 


188 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


effect.  And  he  had  not  forgotten  his  old  kindness  for  her  : 
she  saw  it  in  his  look,  his  words,  his  voice,  shown  in  every 
way  ;  and  the  feeling  that  she  had  got  her  old  friend  again 
and  should  never  lose  him  now  gave  her  more  deep  pleasure 
than  anything  else  could  possibly  have  done  at  tiiat  time. 
His  own  family  too  had  not  seen  him  in  a  long  time,  so  his 
presence  was  matter  of  general  satisfaction. 

Later  in  the  evenino^  Ellen  was  sittinfr  beside  him  on  the 
sofa,  looking  and  listening, — he  was  like  a  piece  of  old  mu- 
sic to  her, — when  John  came  to  the  back  of  the  sofa  and 
said  he  wanted  to  speak  to  her.  She  went  with  him  to  the 
other  side  of  the  room. 

"  Ellie,"  said  he  in  in  low  voice,  "  I  think  ray  father 
would  like  to  hear  you  sing  a  hymn, — do  you  think  you 
could  ?" 

Ellen  looked  up,  with  a  peculiar  mixture  of  uncertainty 
and  resolution  in  her  countenance,  and  said  yes. 

"  Not  if  it  will  pain  you  too  much, — and  not  unless  you 
think  you  can  surely  go  through  with  it,  Ellen,"  he  said 
gently, 

"  No,"  said  Ellen        I  will  try." 

"  Will  it  not  give  you  too  much  pain  ?  do  you  think  you 
can  ?" 

"  No — I  will  try,"  she  repeated. 

As  she  went  along  the  hall  she  said  and  resolved  to  herself 
t\\2ii  would  do  it.  The  library  was  dark;  coming 'from 
the  light  Ellen  at  first  could  see  nothing,  John  placed  her  in 
a  chair,  and  went  away  himself  to  a  little  distance  where  he 
remained  perfectly  still.  She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands 
for  a  minute,  and  prayed  for  strength  ;  she  was  afraid  to  try, 

Alice  and  her  brother  were  remarkable  for  beauty  of  voice 
and  utterance.  The  latter  Ellen  had  in  part  caught  from 
them  ;  in  the  former  she  thought  herself  greatly  inferior. 
Perhaps  she  underrated  herself ;  her  voice,  though  not  indeed 
powerful,  was  low  and  sweet  and  very  clear ;  and  the  entire 
simpHcity  and  feeling  with  which  she  sang  hymns  was  more 
effectual  than  any  higher  qualities  of  tone  and  compass.  She 
had  been  very  much  accustomed  to  sing  with  Alice,  who  ex- 
celled in  beautiful  truth  and  simplicity  of  expression  ;  listen- 
ing with  delight,  as  she  had  often  done,  and  often  joining  with 
her,  Ellen  had  caught  something  of  her  manner. 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  W^ORLD. 


189 


She  thought  nothing  of  all  this  now ;  she  had  a  trying  task 
to  go  through.  Sing  ! — then,  and  there  ! — And  what  should 
she  sing  ?  All  that  class  of  hymns  that  bore  directly  on 
the  subject  of  their  sorrow  must  be  left  on  one  side ;  she 
liardly  dared  think  of  them.  Instinctively  she  took  up  ano- 
ther class,  that  without  baring  the  wound  would  lay  the  balm 
close  to  it.  A  few  minutes  of  deep  stillness  were  in  the  dark 
room  ;  then  very  low,  and  in  tones  that  trembled  a  little,  rose 
the  words. 

How  sweet  the  name  of  Jesus  sounds 

In  a  believer's  ear  ; 
It  soothes  his  sorrows,  heals  his  wounds, 

And  drives  away  his  fear. 

The  tremble  in  her  voice  ceased,  as  she  went  on. 

It  makes  the  wounded  spirit  whole, 

And  calms  the  troubled  breast ; 
'Tis  manna  to  the  hungry  soul, 

And  to  the  weary,  rest. 

By  him  my  prayers  acceptance  gain, 

Although  with  sin  defiled  ; 
Satan  accuses  me  in  vain. 

And  I  am  owned  a  child. 

"Weak  is  the  efibrt  of  my  heart, 

And  cold  my  warmest  thought, — 
But  when  I  see  thee  as  thou  art, 

I'll  praise  thee  as  I  ought. 

Till  then  I  would  thy  love  proclaim 

With  every  lab'ring  breath  ; 
And  may  the  music  of  thy  name 

Refresh  my  soul  in  death. 

Ellen  paused  a  minute.  There  was  not  a  sound  to  be 
heard  in  the  room.  She  thought  of  the  hymn,  "Loving 
Kindness  ;"  but  the  tune,  and  the  spirit  of  the  words,  was  too 
Uvely.  Her  mother's  favorite,  "  'Tis  my  happiness  below," 
but  Ellen  could  not  venture  that ;  she  strove  to  forget  it  as 
fast  as  possible.    She  sang,  clearly  and  sweetly  as  ever  now, 

Hark  my  soul,  it  is  the  Lord, 
'Tis  thy  Saviour,  hear  his  word  ;— 
Jesus  speaks,  and  speaks  to  thee, 
**  Say,  poor  sinner,  lovest  thou  me 

*'  I  delivered  thee  when  bound, 
And  when  bleeding  healed  thy  wound  ; 
Sought  thee  wandering,  set  thee  right. 
Turned  thy  darkness  into  light. 


190 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


"  Can  a  mother's  tender  care 
Cease  toward  the  child  she  bare  1 
Yea — she  may  forgetful  be, 
Yet  will  I  remember  thee. 

*'  Mine  is  an  unchanging  love  ; 
Higher  than  the  heights  above, 
Deeper  than  the  depths  beneath, 
Free  and  faithful,  strong  as  death. 

"  Thou  shalt  see  my  glory  soon,  # 
When  the  work  of  life  is  done, 
Partner  of  my  throne  shah  be, — 
Say,  poor  .sinner,  lovest  thou  me  1" 

Lord,  it  is  my  chief  complaint 
That  my  love  is  weak  and  faint ; 
Yet  I  love  thee  and  adore, — 
Oh  for  grace  to  love  thee  more  ! 

Ellen's  task  was  no  longer  painful,  but  most  delightful. 
She  hoped  she  was  doing  some  good  ;  and  that  hope  enabled 
her,  after  the  first  trembling  beginning,  to  go  on  without  any 
difficulty.  She  was  not  thinking  of  herself.  It  was  very  well 
she  could  not  see  the  effect  upon  her  auditors.  Through  the 
dark  her  eyes  could  only  just  discern  a  dark  figure  stretched 
upon  the  sofa  and  another  standing  by  the  mantlepiece.  The 
room  was  profoundly  still,  except  when  she  was  singing.  The 
choice  of  hymns  gave  her  the  greatest  trouble.  She  thought 
of  "  Jerusalem,  my  happy  home,"  but  it  would  not  do  ;  she 
and  Alice  had  too  often  sung  it  in  strains  of  joy.  Happily 
came*  to  her  mind  the  beautiful, 

"  How  firm  a  foundation,  ye  saints  of  the  Lord,"  &c. 

She  went  through  all  the  seven  long  verses.  Still  when 
Ellen  paused  at  the  end  of  this,  the  breathless  silence  seemed 
to  invite  her  to  go  on.  She  waited  a  minute  to  gather  breath. 
The  blessed  words  had  gone  down  into  her  very  heart ;  did 
they  ever  seem  half  so  sweet  before  ?  She  was  cheered  and 
strengthened,  and  thought  she  could  go  through  with  the  next 
hymn,  though  it  had  been  much  loved  and  often  used,  both 
by  her  mother  and  Alice. 

Jesus,  lover  of  my  soul, 
Let  me  to  thy  bosom  fly, 
While  the  billows  near  me  roll, 
While  the  tempest  still  is  nigh. 
Hide  me,  O  my  Saviour,  hide. 
Till  the  storm  of  life  be  past  • — 
Safe  into  the  haven  guide, — 
O  receive  my  soul  at  last ! 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


191 


Other  refuge  have  I  none, 
Hangs  my  helpless  soul  on  thee — 
Leave,  ah  !  leave  me  not  alone  ! 
Still  support  and  comfort  me. 
All  my  trust  on  thee  is  stayed, 
All  my  help  from  thee  I  bring  ; — 
Cover  my  defenceless  head 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  thy  wing. 

Thou,  O  Christ,  art  all  I  want ; 
More  than  all  in  thee  I  find  ; 
Raise  the  fallen,  cheer  the  faint. 
Heal  the  sick,  and  lead  the  blind. 
Just  and  holy  is  thy  name, 
I  am  all  unrighteousness  ; 
Vile  and  full  of  sin  I  am. 
Thou  art  full  of  truth  and  grace. 

Still  silence  ; — "  silence  that  spoke  !"  Ellen  did  not  know 
what  it  said,  except  that  her  hearers  did  not  wish  her  to  stop. 
Her  next  was  a  very  favorite  hymn  of  them  all. 

"  What  are  these  in  bright  array,"  &c. 

Ellen  had  allowed  her  thoucrhts  to  travel  too  far  alono:  with 
the  words,  for  in  the  last  lines  her  voice  was  unsteady  and 
faint.  She  was  fain  to  make  a  longer  pause  than  usual  to 
recover  herself.  But  in  vain  ;  the  tender  nerve  was  touched  ; 
there  was  no  stilling  its  quivering. 

"  Ellen  " — said  Mr.  Humphreys  then  after  a  few  minutes. 
She  rose  and  went  to  the  sofa.  He  folded  her  close  to  his 
breast. 

"  Thank  you,  my  child,"  he  said  presently  ; — "  you  have 
been  a  comfort  to  me.  Nothing  but  a  choir  of  angels  could 
have  been  sweeter." 

As  Ellen  went  away  back  through  the  hall  her  tears  almost 
choked  her  ;  but  for  all  that  there  was  a  strong  throb  of 
pleasure  at  her  heart. 

I  have  been  a  comfort  to  him,"  she  repeated.  "  Oh  deaj 
Alice  !— so  I  will !" 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 


"  A  child  no  more  ! — a  maiden  now — 
A  graceful  maiden  with  a  gentle  brow  ; 
A  cheek  tinged  lightlj-,  and  a  dove-like  eye, 
And  all  hearts  bless  her  as  she  passes  by." 

Mary  HomTT. 

The  whole  Marshman  family  returned  to  Ventnor  imme- 
diately after  the  funeral,  Mr.  George  excepted ;  he  stayed 
with  Mr.  Humphreys  over  the  Sabbath,  and  preached  for 
him ;  and  much  to  every  one's  pleasure  lingered  still  a  day  or 
two  longer  ;  then  he  was  obliged  to  leave  them.  John  also 
must  go  back  to  Doncaster  for  a  few  weeks ;  he  would  not  be 
able  to  get  home  again  before  the  early  part  of  August.  For 
the  month  between  and  as  much  longer  indeed  as  pos- 
sible, Mrs.  Marshman  wished  to  have  Ellen  at  Ventnor ;  assur- 
ing her  that  it  was  to  be  her  home  always  whenever  she  chose 
to  make  it  so.  At  first  neither  Mrs.  Marshman  nor  her 
daughters  would  take  any  denial ;  and  old  Mr.  Marshman  was 
fixed  upon  it.  But  Ellen  begged  with  tears  that  she  might 
stay  at  home  and  begin  at  once,  as  far  as  she  could,  to  take 
Ahce's  place.  Her  kind  friends  insisted  that  it  would  do  her 
harm  to  be  left  alone  for  so  long,  at  such  a  season.  Mr. 
Humphreys  in  the  best  of  times  kept  very  much  to  himself, 
and  now  he  would  more  than  ever ;  she  would  be  very  lonely. 
*'  But  how  lonely  he  will  be  if  I  go  away  !"  said  Ellen  ; — "  I 
can't  go."  Finding  that  her  heart  was  set  upon  it,  and  that  it 
would  be  a  real  grief  to  her  to  go  to  Ventnor,  John  at  last 
joined  to  excuse  her  ;  and  he  made  an  arrangement  with  Mrs. 
Vawse  instead  that  she  should  come  and  stay  with  Ellen  at 
the  parsonage  till  he  came  back.  This  gave  Ellen  great  satis- 
faction ;  and  her  kind  Ventnor  friends  were  obliged  unwil- 
lingly to  leave  her. 

The  first  few  days  after  John's  departure  were  indeed  sad 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


193 


days — very  sad  to  every  one ;  it  could  not  be  otherwise. 
Ellen  drooped  miserably.  She  had,  however,  the  best  possi- 
ble companion  in  her  old  Swiss  friend.  Her  good  sense,  her 
steady  cheerfulness,  her  firm  principle  were  always  awake  for 
Ellen's  good,  ever  ready  to  comfort  her,  to  cheer  her,  to  pre- 
vent her  from  giving  undue  way  to  sorrow,  to  urge  her  to 
useful  exertion.  Affection  and  gratitude,  to  the  living  and  the 
dead,  gave  powerful  aid  to  these  efforts.  Ellen  rose  up  in 
tlie  morning  and  lay  down  at  night  with  the  present  pressing 
wish  to  do  and  be  for  the  ease  and  comfort  of  her  adopted 
father  and  brother  all  that  it  was  possible  for  her.  Very  soon, 
so  soon  as  she  could  rouse  herself  to  anything,  she  began  to 
turn  over  in  her  mind  all  manner  of  ways  and  means  for  this 
end.  And  in  general,  whatever  Alice  would  have  washed, 
what  John  did  wish,  w^as  law  to  her. 

Margery,"  said  Ellen  one  day,  "I  wish  you  would  tell  me 
all  the  things  Alice  used  to  do ;  so  that  I  may  begin  to  do 
them,  you  know,  as  soon  as  I  can." 

What  things,  Miss  Ellen?" 
"  I  mean,  the  things  she  used  to  do  about  the  house,  or  to 
help  you, — don't  you  know  ? — all  sorts  of  things.    I  want  to 
know  them  all,  so  that  I  may  do  them  as  she  did.    I  want  to 
very  much." 

"  0,  Miss  Ellen,  dear,"  said  Margeiy  tearfully,  "  you  are 
too  little  and  tender  to  do  them  things ; — I'd  be  sorry  to  see 
you,  indeed  !" 

"Why  no,  I  am  not,  Margery,"  said  Ellen; — "don't  you 
know  how  I  used  to  do  at  aunt  Fortune's  ?  Now  tell  me — 
please,  dear  Margery!    If  I  can't  do  it,  I  won't,  you  know." 

0,  Miss  Ellen,  she  used  to  see  to  various  things  about  the 
house ; — I  don't  know  as  I  can  tell  'em  all  directly  ;  some 
was  to  help  me  ;  and  some  to  please  her  father,  or  Mr.  John, 
if  he  was  at  home ;  she  thought  of  every  one  else  before  her- 
self, sure  enough." 

"  W^ell  what,  Margery  ?  what  were  they  ?  Tell  me  all  you 
can  remember." 

"  Why,  Miss  Ellen, — for  one  thing, — she  used  to  go  into 
the  library  every  morning,  to  put  it  in  order,  and  dust  the 
books  and  papers  and  things ;  in  fact  she  took  the  charge  of 
that  room  entirely  ;  1  never  went  into  it  at  all,  unless  once  or 
twice  in  the  year,  or  to  wash  the  windows." 
VOL.  II.  9 


194 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


Ellen  looked  grave  ;  she  thought  with  herself  there  might 
be  a  difficulty  in  the  way  of  her  taking  this  part  of  Alice's 
daily  duties  ;  she  did  not  feel  that  she  had  the  freedom  of  the 
library. 

"  And  then,"  said  Margery,  she  used  to  skim  the  cream 
for  me,  most  mornings,  when  I'd  be  busy  ;  and  w  ash  up  the 
breakfast  things, — " 

"01  forgot  all  about  the  breakfast  things !"  exclaimed 
Ellen, — "  how  could  I !  I'll  do  them  to  be  sure,  after  this.  I 
never  thought  of  them^  Margery.  And  I'll  skim  the  cream 
too." 

"  Dear  Miss  Ellen,  I  wouldn't  want  you  to ;  I  didn't  men- 
tion it  for  that,  but  you  was  wishing  me  to  tell  you  — I  don't 
want  you  to  trouble  your  dear  little  head  about  such  work.  It 
was  more  the  thoughtfulness  that  cared  about  me  than  the 
help  of  all  she  could  do,  though  that  wasn't  a  little  ; — I'll  get 
along  well  enough  ! — " 

IBut  1  should  like  to, — it  would  make  me  happier ;  and 
don't  you  think  /  want  to  help  you  too,  Margery  ?" 

"The  Lord  bless  you,  Miss  Kllen,"  said  Margery,  in  a  sort 
of  desperation,  setting  down  one  iron  and  taking  up  another, 
"don't  talk  in  that  way,  or  you'll  upset  me  entirely, — I  aint 
a  bit  better  than  a  child,"  said  she,  her  tears  falling  fast  on  the 
sheet  she  was  hurriedly  ironing. 

"  What  else,  dear  Margery  ?"  said  Ellen  presently.  "  Tell 
me  what  else  ?" 

"Well,  Miss  Ellen,"  said  Margery,  dashing  away  the  water 
from  either  eye, — "  she  used  to  look  over  the  clothes  when 
they  went  up  from  the  wash  ;  and  put  them  aw^ay ;  and  mend 
them  if  there  was  any  places  wanted  mending." 

"  1  am  afraid  I  don't  know  how  to  manage  that,"  said 
Ellen  very  gravely. — "  There  is  one  thing  I  can  do, — I  can 
darn  stockings  very  nicely  ;  but  that's  only  one  kind  of  mend- 
ing.   I  don't  know^  much  about  the  otlier  kinds." 

"  Ah  well,  but  she  did,  however,"  said  Margery,  searching 
in  her  basket  of  clothes  for  some  particular  pieces.  "  A  beau- 
tiful mender  she  was  to  be  sure  !  Look  here.  Miss  Ellen, 
— just  see  that  patch — the  way  it  is  put  on — so  evenly  by  a 
thread  all  round  ;  and  the  stitches,  see — and  see  the  way  this 
rent  is  darned  down ; — oh  that  was  the  way  she  did  every- 
thing 1" 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


195 


"  I  can't  do  it  so,"  said  Ellen  sighing, — "  But  I  can  learn  ; — 
that  I  can  do.    You  will  teach  me  Margery,  won't  you  ?" 

"  Indeed  Miss  Ellen,  dear,  it's  more  than  I  can  myself ; 
but  I  will  tell  you  who  will ;  and  that's  Mrs.  Vawse.  I  am 
thinking  it  was  her  she  learned  of  in  the  first  place, — but  I 
aint  certain.    Anyhow  she's  a  first-rate  hand." 

"  Then  I'll  get  her  to  teach  me,"  said  Ellen  ; — "  that  will 
do  very  nicely.    And  now  Margery,  what  else  ?" 

"  0  dear,  Miss  Ellen, — I  don't  know, — there  Avas  a  thou- 
sand little  things  that  I'd  only  recollect  at  the  minute  ;  she'd 
set  the  table  for  me  when  my  hands  was  uncommon  full ;  and 
often  she'd  come  out  and  make  some  httle  thing  for  the  mas- 
ter when  I  wouldn't  have  the  time  to  do  the  same  myself ; — 
and  i  can't  tell — one  can't  think  of  those  things  but  just  at 
the  minute.  Dear  Miss  Ellen,  I'd  be  sorry  indeed  to  see  you 
a  trying  your  little  hands  to  do  all  that  she  done." 

"  Never  mind  Margery,"  said  Ellen,  "  and  she  threw  her 
arms  round  the  kind  old  woman  as  she  spoke, — "I  won't 
trouble  you — and  you  won't  be  troubled  if  I  am  awkward 
about  anything  at  first,  will  you  ?" 

Margery  could  only  throw  down  her  holder  to  return  most 
affectionately  as  w^ell  as  respectfully  Ellen's  caress  and  press 
a  very  hearty  kiss  upon  her  forehead. 

Ellen  next  went  to  Mrs.  Vawse  to  beg  her  help  in  the 
mending  and  patching  line.  Her  old  friend  was  very  glad  to 
see  her  take  up  anything  with  interest,  and  readily  agreed  to 
do  her  best  in  the  matter.  So  some  old  clothes  were  looked 
up  ;  pieces  of  hnen,  cotton,  and  flannel  gathered  together ;  a 
large  basket  found  to  hold  all  these  rags  of  shape  and  no 
shape  ;  and  for  the  next  week  or  two  Ellen  was  indefatigable. 
She  w^ould  sit  making  vain  endeavors  to  arrange  a  large  linen 
patch  properly,  till  her  cheeks  were  burning  with  excitement ; 
and  bend  over  a  darn,  doing  her  best  to  take  invisible  stitches, 
till  Mrs.  Vawse  was.  obliged  to  assure  her  it  was  quite  un- 
necessary to  take  so  much  pains.  Taking  pains,  however,  is 
the  sure  way  to  success.  Ellen  could  not  rest  satisfied  till 
she  had  equalled  Alice's  patching  and  darning ;  and  though 
when  Mrs.  Vawse  left  her  she  had  not  quite  reached  that 
point,  she  was  bidding  fair  to  do  so  in  a  little  while. 

In  other  things  she  was  more  at  home.  She  could  skim 
milk  well  enough,  and  immediately  began  to  do  it  for  Mar- 


196 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


gery.  She  at  once  also  took  upon  herself  the  care  of  the 
parlor  cupboard  and  all  the  things  in  it,  which  she  well  knew 
had  been  Alice's  office  ;  and  thanks  to  Miss  Fortune's  training, 
even  Margery  was  quite  satisfied  with  her  neat  and  orderly 
manner  of  doing  it.  Ellen  begged  her  when  the  clothes  came 
up  from  the  wash,  to  show  her  where  everything  went,  so 
^hat  for  the  future  she  miglit  be  able  to  put  them  away  ;  and 
she  studied  the  shelves  of  the  linen  closet,  and  the  chests  of 
drawers  in  Mr.  Humphreys'  room,  till  she  almost  knew  them 
by  heart.  As  to  the  library,  she  dared  not  venture.  Slie 
law  Mr.  Humphreys  at  meals  and  at  prayers, — only  then. 
He  had  never  asked  her  to  come  into  his  study  since  the 
night  she  sang  to  him,  and  as  for  her  asking — nothing  could 
have  been  more  impossible.  Even  when  he  was  out  of  the 
house,  out  by  the  hour,  Ellen  never  thought  of  ffoino-  where 
she  had  not  been  expressly  permitted  to  go. 

AVhen  Mr.  Van  ]>runt  informed  his  wife  of  Ellen's  purpose 
to  desert  her  service  and  make  her  future  home  at  the  par- 
sonage, the  lady's  astonishment  was  only  less  than  her  indig- 
nation ;  the  latter  not  at  all  lessened  by  learning  that  Ellen 
was  to  become  the  adopted  child  of  the  house.  For  a  while 
her  words  of  displeasure  were  poured  forth  in  a  torrent ;  Mr. 
Van  Brunt  meantime  saying  very  little,  and  standing  by  like  a 
steadfast  rock  that  the  waves  dash  past,  not  vpon.  She  de- 
clared this  was  "  the  cap-sheaf  of  Miss  Humphreys'  doings  ; 
she  mi(jht  have  been  wise  enough  to  have  expected  as  much ; 
she  wouldn't  haye  been  such  a  fool  if  she  had  !  This  was  what 
she  had  let  Ellen  go  there  for  !  a  pretty  return  !''  But  she 
went  on.  "  She  wondered  who  they  thought  they  had  to 
deal  with  ;  did  they  think  she  was  going  to  let  Ellen  go  in 
that  way  ?  she  had  the  first  and  only  rigiit  to  her  ;  and  Ellen 
had  no  more  business  to  c^o  and  oive  hei-self  away  than  one 
of  her  oxen  ;  they  would  find  it  out,  she  guessed,  pretty 
quick  ;  Mr.  John  and  all ;  she'd  have  her  back  in  no  time  !" 
AVhat  were  her  thoughts  and  feelings,  when  after  having 
spent  her  breath  she  found  her  husband  quietly  opposed  to  this 
conclusion,  words  cannot  tell.  Her  words  could  not ;  she 
was  absolutely  dumb,  till  he  had  said  his  say ;  and  then, 
nppalled  by  the  serenity  of  his  manner  she  left  indignation  on 
one  side  for  the  present  and  began  to  argue  the  matter.  But 
Mr.  Van  Brunt  coolly  said  he  had  promised ;  she  might  get 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


197 


as  many  help  as  she  Hked,  he  would  pay  for  them  and  wel- 
come ;  but  Ellen  would  have  to  stay  where  she  was.  He 
had  promised  Miss  Alice  ;  and  he  wouldn't  break  his  word 
**  for  kings,  lords,  and  commons."  A  most  extraordinary 
expletive  for  a  good  republican, — which  Mr.  Van  Brunt  had 
probably  inherited  from  his  father  and  grandfather.  What 
can  waves  do  against  a  rock  ?  The  whilome  Miss  Fortune 
disdained  a  struggle  which  must  end  in  her  own  confusion, 
and  wisely  kept  her  chagrin  to  herself  ;  never  even  approach- 
ing the  subject  afterwards,  with  him  or  any  other  person. 
Ellen  had  left  the  whole  matter  to  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  expecting 
a  storm  and  not  wishing  to  share  it.  Happily  it  all  blew 
over. 

As  the  month  drew  to  an  end,  and  indeed  long  before, 
Ellen's  thoughts  began  to  go  forward  eagerly  to  John's  com- 
ing home.  She  had  learned  by  this  time  how  to  mend 
clothes  ;  she  had  grown  somewhat  w^onted  to  her  new  round 
of  little  household  duties  ;  in  everything  else  the  want  of  him 
was  felt.  Study  flagged  ;  though  knowing  what  his  wish 
would  be,  and  what  her  duty  was,  she  faithfully  tried  to  go 
on  with  it.  She  had  no  heart  for  riding  or  walking  by  her- 
self. She  was  lonely ;  she  was  sorrowful ;  she  was  weary  ; 
all  Mrs.  Vawse's  pleasant  society  was  not  worth  the  mere 
knowledge  that  he  was  in  the  house  ;  she  longed  for  his 
coming. 

He  had  written  what  day  they  might  expect  him.  But 
when  it  came  Ellen  tound  that  her  feeling  had  changed  ;  it 
did  not  look  the  bright  day  she  had  expected  it  would.  Up 
to  that  time  she  had  thought  only  of  herself ;  now  she  remem- 
bered what  sort  of  a  coming  home  this  must  be  to  him  ;  and 
she  dreaded  almost  as  much  as  she  wished  for  the  moment 
of  his  arrival.  Mrs.  Vawse  was  surprised  to  see  that  her  face 
was  sadder  that  day  than  it  had  been  for  many  past ;  she 
could  not  understand  it.  Ellen  did  not  explain.  It  was  late 
in  the  day  before  he  reached  home,  and  her  anxious  watch  of 
hope  and  fear  for  the  sound  of  his  horse's  feet  grew  very 
painful.  She  busied  herself  with  setting  the  tea-table  ;  it  was 
all  done  ;  and  she  could  by  no  means  do  anything  else.  She 
could  not  go  to  the  door  to  listen  there  ;  she  remembered  too 
well  the  last  time ;  and  she  knew  he  would  remember  it. 


198 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


He  came  at  last.  Ellen's  feeling  liad  judged  rightly  of  his, 
for  the  greeting  was  without  a  word  on  either  side  ;  and  when 
he  left  the  room  to  go  to  his  father,  it  was  ver}^  very  long 
before  h%  came  back.  And  it  seemed  to  Ellen  for  several 
days  that  he  was  more  grave  and  talked  less  than  even  the 
last  time  he  had  been  at  home.  She  was  sorry  when  Mrs. 
Vawse  proposed  to  leave  them.  But  the  old  lady  wisely 
said  they  would  all  feel  better  Avhen  she  was  gone ;  and  it 
was  so.  Truly  as  she  was  respected  and  esteemed,  on  all 
sides,  it  was  felt  a  relief  by  every  one  of  the  family  when  she 
went  back  to  her  mountain-top.  They  were  left  to  them- 
selves ;  they  saw  what  their  numbers  were  ;  there  was  no 
restraint  upon  looks,  words,  or  silence.  Ellen  saw  at  once 
that  the  gentlemen  felt  easier,  that  was  enough  to  make  her 
so.  The  extreme  oppression  that  had  grieved  and  disap- 
pointed her  the  first  few  days  after  John's  return,  gave  place 
to  a  softened  gravity ;  and  the  household  fell  again  into  all 
its  old  ways ;  only  that  upon  every  brow  there  was  a 
chastened  air  of  sorrow,  in  everything  that  was  said  a  tone  of 
remembrance,  and  that  a  little  figure  was  going  about  where 
Alice's  used  to  move  as  mistress  of  the  house. 

Thanks  to  her  brother,  that  little  fioure  was  an  exceedino^ 
busy  one.  She  had  in  the  first  place  her  household  duties, 
in  discharging  which  she  was  perfectly  untiring.  From  the 
cream  skimmed  for  Margery,  and  the  cups  of  coffee  poured 
out  every  morning  for  Mr.  Humphreys  and  her  brother,  to  the 
famous  mending  which  took  up  often  one  half  of  Saturday, 
whatever  she  did  was  done  with  her  best  diligence  and  care ; 
and  from  love  to  both  the  dead  and  the  living,  Ellen's  zeal 
never  slackened.  These  things  however  filled  but  a  small 
part  of  her  time,  let  her  be  as  particular  as  she  would  ;  and 
Mr.  John  effectually  hindered  her  from  being  too  particular. 
He  soon  found  a  plenty  for  both  her  and  himself  to  do. 

Not  that  they  ever  forgot  or  tried  to  forget  Alice ;  on  the 
contrary.  They  sought  to  remember  her,  humbly,  calmly, 
hopefully,  thankfully  !  By  diligent  performance  of  duty,  by 
Christian  faith,  by  conversation  and  prayer,  they  strove  to 
do  this  ;  and  after  a  time  succeeded.  Sober  that  winter 
was,  but  it  was  very  far  from  being  an  unhappy  one. 

"  John,"  said  Ellen  one  day,  some  time  after  Mrs.  Vawse 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


199 


had  left  them, — "  do  you  think  Mr.  Humphreys  would  let 
me  go  into  his  study  every  day  when  he  is  out,  to  put  it  in 
order  and  dust  the  books  ?" 

"  Certainly.    But  why  does  not  Mai^ery  do  it  ?" 

"  She  does  I  believe,  but  she  never  used  to  ;  and  I  should 
like  to  do  it  very  much  if  I  was  sure  he  would  not  dislike  it, 
I  wouJd  be  cai-efui  not  to  disturb  anything ;  I  would  leave 
everything  just  as  I  found  it." 

"  You  may  go  when  you  please,  ^ind  do  what  you  please 
there,  Ellie." 

"  But  I  don't  like  to — I  couldn't  without  speaking  to  him 
first ;  1  should  be  afraid  he  would  come  back  and  find  me 
there,  and  he  might  think  I  hadn't  had  leave." 

And  5^ou  wish  me  to  speak  to  him, — is  that  it  ?  Cannot 
you  muster  resolution  . enough  for  tlrat,  Eliie  ?" 

Ellen  was  sTitisfied,  for  she  knew  by  his  tone  he  would  do 
what  she  wanted. 

Father,"  said  John  the  next  morning  at  breakfast ; — 
Ellen  wishes  to  take  upon  herself  the  daily  care  of  your 
study,  but  she  is  afraid  to  venture  without  being  assured  it  will 
please  you  to  see  her  there," 

The  old  gentleman  laid  his  hand  affectionately  on  Ellen's 
head,  and  told  her  she  was  welcome  to  come  and  go  when 
she  would ; — the  whole  house  was  hers. 

The  grave  kindness  and  tenderness  of  the  tone  and  action 
spoiled  Ellen's  breakfast  She  could  not  look  at  anybody 
nor  hold  her  head  up  for  the  rest  of  the  time. 

As  Alice  had  anticipated,  her  brother  was  called  to  take 
the  charge  of  a  church  at  Randolph,  and  at  the  same  time 
another  more  distant  was  offered  him.  He  refused  them 
both,  rightly  judging  that  his  place  for  the  present  was  at 
home.  But  the  call  from  Randolph  being  pressed  upon  him 
very  much,  he  at  length  agreed  to  preach  for  them  during 
the  winter;  riding  thither  for  the  purpose  evtry  Saturday 
and  returning  to  Carra-carra  on  Monday. 

As  the  Vvinter  woixb  on  a  grave  cheerfulness  stole  o\t.i  Lne 
household.  Ellen  little  thought  how  much  she  had  to  do 
with  it.  She  never  heard  Margery  tell  her  husband,  which 
she  often  did  with  great  affection,  "  that  that  blessed  child 
was  the  light  of  the  house."  And  those  who  felt  it  the 
most  said  nothing.    Ellen  was  sure,  indeed,  from  the  way 


200 


in  which  Mr.  Humphreys  spoke  to  lier,  looked  at  her,  now 
and  then  laid  his  hand  on  her  head,  and  sometimes,  very 
rarely,  kissed  her  forehead,  tlmt  he  loved  her  and  loved  tc 
r.ee  her  about ;  and  that  her  Avish  of  supplying  Alice's  place 
was  in  some  httle  measure  fulfilled.  Few  as  those  words  and 
looks  were,  they  said  more  to  Ellen  than  whole  discourses 
would  from  other  people  ;  the  least  of  them  gladdened  her 
heart  with  the  feeling  that  she  was  a  comfort  to  him.  But 
she  never  knew  how  much.  Deep  as  the  gloom  still  over 
him  was,  Ellen  never  dreamed  how  much  deeper  it  would 
have  been,  but  for  the  little  figure  flitting  round  and  filling 
up  the  vacancy  ;  how  much  he  reposed  on  the  gentle  look 
of  affection,  the  pleasant  voice,  the  watchful  thoughtfulness 
that  never  left  anything  undone  that  she  could  do  for  his 
pleasure.  Perhaps  he  did  not  know  it  himself.  She  was 
not  sure  he  even  noticed  many  of  the  little  things  she  daily 
did  or  tried  to  do  for  him.  Always  silent  and  reserved,  he 
was  more  so  now  than  ever ;  she  saw  him  little,  and  very  sel- 
dom long  at  a  time,  unless  when  they  were  riding  to  church  to- 
gether ;  he  was  always  in  his  study  or  abroad.  But  the 
trifles  she  thought  he  did  not  see  were  noted  and  registered, 
and  repaid  with  all  the  affection  he  had  to  give. 

As  for  Mr.  John,  it  never  came  into  Ellen's  head  to  think 
whether  she  was  a  comfort  to  him  ;  he  was  a  comfort  to  her  ; 
she  looked  at  it  in  quite  another  point  of  view.  He  had  gone 
to  his  old  sleeping  room  up-stairs,  which  Margery  had  settled 
with  herself  he  would  make  his  study  ;  and  for  that  he  had 
taken  the  sitting-room.  This  vras  Ellen's  study  too,  so  she 
was  constantly  with  him  ;  and  of  the  quietest  she  thought  her 
movements  would  have  to  be. 

"  What  are  you  stepping  so  softly  for  ?"  said  he  one  day, 
catching  her  hand  as  she  was  passing  near  him. 

**  You  v/ere  busy — I  thought  you  were  busy,"  said  Ellen. 

"  And  what  then  ?" 

*'  I  was  afraid  of  disturbing  you." 

"  You  never  disturb  me,"  said  he  ; — "  you  need  not  fear 
it.  Step  as  you  please,  and  do  not  shut  tlie  doors  carefully. 
I  see  you  and  hear  you  ;  but  witliout  any  disturbance." 

Ellen  found  it  was  so.  But  she  was  an  exception  to  the 
general  rule  ;  other  people  disturbed  him,  as  she  had  one  or 
two  occasions  of  knowing. 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


201 


Of  one  thing  she  was  perfectly  sure,  whatever  he  might  be 
doing, — that  he  saw  and  heard  her  ;  and  equally  sui-e  that  if 
anything  were  not  right  she  should  sooner  or  later  hear  of  it. 
But  this  was  a  censorship  Ellen  rather  loved  than  feared.  In 
the  first  place,  she  was  never  misunderstood  ;  in  the  second, 
however  ironical  and  severe  he  might  be  to  others,  and  Ellen 
knew  he  could  be  both  when  there  was  occasion,  he  never 
was  either  to  her.  With  great  plainness  always,  but  with  an 
equally  happy  choice  of  time  and  manner,  he  either  said  or 
looked  what  he  wished  her  to  understand.  This  happened 
indeed  only  about  comparative  trifles ;  to  have  seriously  dis- 
pleased him,  Ellen  would  have  thought  the  last  great  evil 
that  could  fall  upon  her  in  this  world. 

One  day  Margery  came  into  the  room  with  a  paper  in  her 
hand. 

Miss  Ellen,"  said  she  in  a  low  tone, — "  here  is  Anthony 
Fox  a^ain — he  has  brougfht  another  of  his  curious  letters  that 
he  wants  to  know  if  Miss  Ellen  will  be  so  good  as  to  write 
out  for  him  once  more.  He  says  he  is  ashamed  to  trouble 
you  so  much." 

Ellen  was  reading,  comfortably  ensconsed  in  the  corner  of 
the  wide  sofa.  She  gave  a  glance,  a  most  ungratified  one,  at 
the  very  original  document  in  Margery's  hand.  Unpromis- 
ing it  certainly  looked. 

"  Another  !  Dear  me  ! — 1  wonder  if  there  isn't  somebody 
else  he  could  get  to  do  it  for  him,  Margery  ?  I  think  1  have 
had  my  share.  You  don't  know  what  a  piece  of  work  it  is, 
to  copy  out  one  of  those  scrawls.  It  takes  me  ever  so  long 
in  the  first  place  to  find  what  he  has  written,  and  then  to  put 
it  so  that  any  one  else  can  make  sense  of  it — I've  got  about 
enough  of  it.  Don't  you  suppose  he  could  find  plenty  of 
other  people  to  do  it  for  him  ?" 

"  I  don't  know.  Miss  Ellen, — I  suppose  he  could." 

"  Then  ask  him,  do  ;  won't  you,  Margery  ?  I'm  so  tired 
of  it !  and  this  is  the  third  one  ;  and  I've  got  something  else 
to  do.  Ask  him  if  there  isn't  somebody  else  he  can  get  to 
do  it ; — if  there  isn't,  I  will ; — tell  him  I  am  busy." 

Margery  withdrew  and  Ellen  buried  herself  again  in  her 
book,  Anthony  Fox  was  a  poor  Irishman,  whose  uncouth 
attempts  at  a  letter  Ellen  had  once  offered  to  write  out  and 
make  straight  for  him,  upon  hearing  Margery  tell  of  hia 
9* 


202 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


lamenting  that  he  could  not  make  one  fit  to  sond  home  to  hia 
mother. 

Presently  Margery  came  in  again,  stopping  this  time  at  the 
table  which  Mr.  John  liad  pushed  to  the  far  side  of  the  room 
to  get  away  from  the  fire. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  she  said, — "  T  am  ashamed  to  be  so 
troublesome, — but  tliis  Irish  body,  this  Anthony  Fox,  has 
begged  me,  and  I  didn't  know  how  to  refuse  him,  to  come  in 
and  ask  for  a  sheet  of  paper  and  a  pen  for  him,  sir, — he  wants 
to  copy  a  letter, — if  Mr.  Jolm  would  be  so  good  ;  a  quill  pen, 
sir,  if  you  please  ;  he  cannot  write  with  any  other." 

"  No,"  said  John  coolly.    "  Ellen  will  do  it." 

Margery  looked  in  some  doubt  from  the  table  to  the  sofa, 
but  Ellen  instantly  rose  up  and  with  a  burning  cheek  came 
forward  and  took  the  paper  from  the  hand  wliere  Margery 
still  held  it. 

Ask  him  to  wait  a  little  while,  Marger}^"  she  said  hur- 
riedly,— "  I'll  do  it  as  soon  as  I  can, — tell  him  in  half  an  hour." 

It  was  not  a  very  easy  nor  quick  job.  Ellen  worked  at  it 
patiently,  and  finished  it  well  by  the  end  of  the  half  hour  ; 
though  Avith  a  burning  cheek  still;  and  a  dimness  over  her 
eyes  frequently  obliged  her  to  stop  till  she  could  clear  them. 
It  was  done,  and  she  carried  it  out  to  the  kitchen  herself. 

The  poor  man's  thanks  weie  very  warm  ;  but  that  was  not 
what  Ellen  wanted.  She  could  not  rest  till  she  had  got  ano- 
ther word  from  her  broth ei".  lie  was  busy  ;  she  dared  not 
speak  to  him  ;  she  sat  fidgeting  and  uneasy  in  the  corner  of 
the  sofa  till  it  was  time  to  get  ready  foi-  riding.  She  had 
plenty  of  time  to  make  up  her  mind  about  the  right  and  the 
wrong  of  her  own  conduct. 

During  the  ride  lie  was  just  as  usual,  and  she  began  to 
think  he  did  not  mean  to  say  anything  more  on  the  matter. 
Pleasant  talk  and  pleasant  exercise  had  almost  driven  it  out 
of  her  head,  w^ien  as  they  were  walking  their  horses  over  a 
level  plnce,  he  suddenly  began. 

"  By-the-by,  you  are  too  busy,  Ellie,"  said  he.  "  Which 
of  your  studies  shall  we  cut  off?" 

"  Please,  Mr.  John,"  said  Ellen  blushing, — "  don't  say 
anything  about  that!  I  was  not  studying  at  all — I  was  just 
amusing  myself  with  a  book — I  was  only  selfish  and  lazy." 

"  Only — I  would  rather  you  were  too  busy,  Ellie." 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


203 


Ellen's  eyes  filled. 

"  I  was  wrong,"  she  said, — "  I  knew  it  at  the  time, — at 
least  as  soon  as  you  spoke  I  knew  it ;  and  a  little  before  ; — 
1  was  very  wrong  !" 

And  his  keen  eye  saw  that  the  confession  was  not  out  of 
compliment  to  him  merely  ;  it  came  from  tlie  heart. 

"  You  are  right  now,"  he  said  smiling.  *'  But  how  are 
your  reins  ? 

Ellen's  heart  was  at  rest  again. 

"01  forgot  them,"  said  she  gayly, — "  I  was  thinking  of 
something  else." 

"  You  must  not  talk  when  you  are  riding,  unless  you  can 
contrive  to  manage  two  things  at  once  ;  and  no  more  lose 
command  of  your  horse  than  you  would  of  yourself." 

Ellen's  eye  met  his  w^ith  all  the  contrition,  affection,  and 
ingenuousness  that  even  he  wished  to  see  there  ;  and  they  put 
their  horses  to  the  canter. 

This  winter  was  in  many  ways  a  very  precious  one  to 
Ellen.  French  gave  her  now  no  trouble  ;  she  was  a  clever 
arithmetician ;  she  knew  geography  admirably,  and  was  tol- 
erably at  home  in  both  English  and  American  history ;  the 
way  was  .cleared  for  the  course  of  improvement  in  which  her 
brother's  hand  led  and  helped  her.  He  put  her  into  Latin ; 
carried  on  the  study  of  natural  philosophy  they  had  begun 
the  year  before,  and  which  with  his  instructions  was  perfect- 
ly delightful  to  Ellen  ;  he  gave  her  some  works  of  stronger 
reading  than  she  had  yet  tried,  besides  histories  in  French 
and  English,  and  higher  branches  of  arithmetic.  These 
things  were  not  crowded  together  so  as  to  fatigue,  nor  hur- 
ried through  so  as  to  overload.  Carefully  and  thoroughly 
fihe  was  obliged  to  put  her  mind  through  every  subject  they 
wintered  upon ;  and  just  at  that  age,  opening  as  her  under- 
standing was,  it  grappled  eagerly  with  all  that  he  gave  her, 
as  well  from  love  to  learning  as  from  love  to  him.  In  read- 
ing too,  she  began  to  take  new  and  strong  delight.  Especial- 
ly two  or  three  new  English  periodicals,  which  John  sent  for 
on  purpose  for  her,  w^ere  mines  of  pleasure  to  Ellen.  There 
was  no  fiction  in  them  either ;  they  were  as  full  of  instruction 
as  of  interest.  At  all  times  of  the  day  and  night,  in  her  in- 
tervals of  business,  Ellen  might  be  seen  with  one  of  these  ia 
ber  hand  ;  nestled  among  the  cushions  of  the  sofa,  or  on  a  little 


204 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


bench  by  the  side  of  the  fireplace  in  the  twihght,  where  she 
could  have  the  benefit  of  the  blaze,  which  she  loved  to  read 
by  as  well  as  ever.  Sorrowful  remembrances  were  then 
flown,  all  things  present  were  out  of  view,  and  Ellen's  face 
was  dreamingly  happy. 

It  was  well  there  was  always  somebody  by,  who  whatever 
he  might  himself  be  doing,  never  lost  sight  of  her.  If  ever 
Ellen  was  in  danger  of  bending  too  long  over  her  studies  or 
indulging  herself  too  much  in  the  sofa-corner,  she  was  sure 
to  be  broken  off  to  take  an  hour  or  two  of  smart  exercise, 
riding  or  walking,  or  to  recite  some  lesson,  (and  their  reci- 
tations were  very  lively  things)  or  to  read  aloud,  or  to  talk. 
Sometimes  if  he  saw  that  she  seemed  to  be  drooping  or  a 
ittle  sad,  he  would  come  and  sit  down  by  her  side  or  call 
her  to  his,  find  out  what  she  was  thinking  about ;  and  then, 
instead  of  slurring  it  over,  talk  of  it  fairly  and  set  it  before 
her  in  such  a  light  that  it  was  impossible  to  think  of  it  again 
gloomily,  for  that  day  at  least.  Sometimes  he  took  other 
ways  ;  but  never  when  he  was  present  allowed  her  long  to 
look  weary  or  sorrowful.  He  often  read  to  her,  and  every 
day  made  her  read  aloud  to  him.  This  Ellen  disliked  very 
much  at  first,  and  ended  with  as  much  liking  it.  .  She  had 
an  admirable  teacher.  He  taugfht  her  hovi^  to  manao-e  her 
voice  and  how  to  manage  the  language  ;  in  both  which  he 
excelled  himself,  and  Avas  determined  that  she  should ;  and 
besides  this  their  reading  often  led  to  talking  that  Ellen  de- 
lighted in.  Alwap  when  he  was  making  copies  for  her  she 
read  to  him,  and  once  at  any  rate  in  the  course  of  the  day. 

Every  day  when  the  weather  would  permit,  the  Black 
Prince  and  the  Brownie  with  their  respective  riders  might 
be  seen  abroad  in  the  country,  far  and  wide.  In  the  course 
of  their  rides  Ellen's  horsemanship  was  diligently  perfected. 
Very  often  their  turning  place  was  on  the  top  of  the  Cat's 
back,  and  the  horses  had  a  rest  and  Mrs.  Vawse  a  visit  be- 
fore they  went  down  again.  They  had  long  walks  too,  by 
hill  and  dale  ;  pleasantly  silent  or  pleasantly  talkative, — all 
pleasant  to  Ellen  ! 

Her  only  lonely  or  sorrowful  time  was  when  John  was 
gone  to  Randolph.  It  began  early  Saturday  morning,  and 
perhaps  ended  with  Sunday  night;  for  all  Monday  was  hope 
and  expectation.    Even  Saturday  she  had  not  much  time 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE    WORLD.  205 


to  mope  ;  that  was  the  day  for  her  great  week's  mending, 
When  John  was  gone  and  her  morning  affairs  were  out  oi 
the  way,  Ellen  brought  out  her  work  basket,  and  estab- 
lished herself  on  the  sofa  for  a  quiet  day's  sewing,  without  the 
least  fear  of  interruption.  But  sewing  did  not  always  hinder 
thinking.  And  then  certainly  the  room  did  seem  very  empty, 
and  very  still ;  and  the  clock,  which  she  never  heard  the 
rest  of  the  week,  kept  ticking  an  ungracious  reminder  that 
she  was  alone.  Ellen  would  sometimes  forget  it  in  the  in- 
tense interest  of  some  nice  little  piece  of  repair  which  must 
be  exquisitely  done  in  a  wristband  or  a  glove  ;  and  then  per- 
haps Margery  would  softly  open  the  door  and  come  in. 

"  Miss  Ellen,  dear,  you're  lonesome  enough  ;  isn't  there 
something  I  can  do  for  you  ?  I  can't  rest  for  thinking  of 
your  being  here  all  by  yourself." 

"  0  never  mind  Margery,"  said  Ellen  smiling, — "  I  am  do- 
ing very  well.  I  am  living  in  hopes  of  Monday.  Come  and 
look  here  Margery, — how  will  that  do  ? — don't  you  think  I 
am  learning  to  mend  ?" 

"  It's  beautiful,  Miss  Ellen  !  I  can't  make  out  how  you've 
learned  so  quick.  I'll  tell  Mr.  John  some  time  who  does 
these  things  for  him." 

"  No,  indeed,  Margery  !  don't  you.  Please  not,  Margery. 
I  like  to  do  it  very  much  indeed,  but  I  don't  want  he  should 
know  it,  nor  Mr.  Humphreys.  Now  you  won't,  Margery,  will 
you  ?" 

"  Miss  Ellen,  dear,  I  wouldn't  do  the  least  httle  thing  as 
would  be  worrisome  to  you  for  the  whole  world.  Aren't  you 
tired  sitting  here  all  alone  ?" 

"  0  sometimes,  a  Uttle,"  said  Ellen  sighing.  "  I  can't  help 
that,  you  know." 

"  I  feel  it  even  out  there  in  the  kitchen,"  said  Mar- 
gery ; — I  feel  it  lonesome  hearing  the  house  so  still ;  I  miss 
the  want  of  Mr.  John's  step  up  and  down  the  room.  How 
fond  he  is  of  walking  so,  to  be  sure  !  How  do  you  manage. 
Miss  Ellen,  with  him  making  his  study  here  ?  don't  you  have 
to  keep  uncommon  quiet  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Ellen, — "  no  quieter  than  I  like.  I  do  just  as 
I  have  a  mind  to. 

**  I  thought,  to  be  sure,"  said  Margery,  "  he  would  have 
taken  up  stairs  for  his  study,  or  the  next  ropm,  one  or  t'other ; 


206 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


he  used  to  be  mighty  particular  in  old  times ;  he  didn't  like 
to  have  anybody  ]ound  \vhen  he  Avas  busy ;  but  I  am  glad  he 
is  altered  however  ;  it  is  better  for  you,  Miss  Ellen,  dear, 
though  1  didn't  know  how  you  was  ever  going  to  make  out  at 
first.^' 

Ellen  thought  for  a  minute,  when  Margery  was  gone, 
whether  it  could  be  that  John  was  putting  a  force  upon  his 
hking  for  her  sake,  beai  ing  her  presence  when  he  would  rather 
have  been  without  it.  But  she  thought  of  it  only  a  minute  ;  she 
was  sure,  when  she  recollected  herself,  that  however  it  liap- 
pened,  she  was  no  hindrance  to  him  in  any  kind  of  woik  ; 
that  she  went  out  and  came  in,  and  as  he  had  said,  he  saw 
and  heard  her  without  any  disturbance.  Besides  he  had  said 
so  ;  and  that  was  enough. 

ISaturday  evening  she  generally  contrived  to  busy  herself 
in  her  books.  But  when  Sunday  morning  came  with  its  calm- 
ness and  brightness  ;  when  the  business  of  the  week  was  put 
away,  and  quietness  abroad  and  at  home  invited  to  i*ecollec- 
tion,  then  Ellen's  thoughts  w^ent  back  to  old  times,  and  then 
she  missed  the  calm  sweet  face  that  had  agreed  so  \vell  with 
the  day.  She  missed  her  in  the  morning,  when  the  early  sun 
streamed  in  through  the  empty  room.  She  missed  her  at  the 
breakfast-table,  where  John  was  not  to  take  her  place.  On 
the  ride  to  church,  where  Mr  Humphreys  was  now  her  silent 
companion,  and  every  tree  in  the  road  and  every  opening  in 
the  lanscape  seemed  to  call  for  Alice  to  see  it  with  her.  Very 
muL-h  she  missed  her  in  church.  The  empty  seat  beside  hei-, 
— the  unused  hym.n-book  on  the  shelf, — the  want  of  her 
sweet  voice  in  the  singing, — oh  how  it  went  to  Pollen's  heart. 
And  Mr.  Humphreys'  grave  steadfast  look  and  tone  kept  it 
in  her  mind  ;  she  saw  it  w^as  in  his.  Those  Sunday  mornings 
tried  Ellen.  At  first  they  were  bitterly  sad ;  her  tears  used 
to  flow  abundantly  whenever  they  could  unseen.  Time  soft- 
ened this  feeling. 

While  Mr.  Humphreys  went  on  to  his  second  service  in  the 
village  beyond,  Ellen  stayed  at  Carra-carra  and  tried  to  teach 
a  Sunday  school.  Slie  determined  as  far  as  she  could  to  sup- 
ply beyond  the  home  circle  the  loss  that  was  not  felt  only 
there.  She  was  able  however  to  gather  together  but  her  own 
four  children  whom  she  had  constantly  taught  from  the  be- 
ginning, and  two  others.    The  rest  were  scattei-ed.  After 


THE    tVIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


207 


her  lunch,  which  having  no  companion  but  Margery  was  now 
a  short  one,  Ellen  went  next  to  the  two  old  women  that  Alice 
had  been  accustomed  to  attend  for  the  purpose  of  reading,  and 
what  Ellen  called  preaching.  These  poor  old  people  had  sadly 
lamented  the  loss  of  the  faithful  friend  whose  place  they  never 
expected  to  see  supplied  in  this  world,  and  whose  kindness 
had  constantly  sweetened  their  lives  with  one  great  pleasure 
a  week.  Ellen  felt  afraid  to  take  so  much  upon  herself,  as  to 
try  to  do  for  them  what  Alice  had  done  ;  however  she  re- 
solved ;  and  at  the  very  first  attempt  their  gratitude  and  joy 
far  overpaid  her  for  the  effort  she  had  made.  Practice  and  the 
motive  she  had,  soon  enabled  Ellen  to  remember  and  repeat 
faithfully  the  greater  part  of  Mr.  Humphreys'  morning  ser- 
mon. Reading  the  Bible  to  Mrs.  Blockson  was  easy ;  she  had 
often  done  that ;  and  to  repair  the  loss  of  Alice's  pleasant  com- 
ments and  explanations  she  bethought  her  of  her  Pilgrim's 
Progress.  To  her  delight  the  old  woman  heard  it  greedily, 
and  seemed  to  take  great  comfort  in  it ;  often  referring  to 
what  Ellen  had  read  before  and  begging  to  hear  such  a  piece 
over  again.  Ellen  generally  went  home  pretty  thoroughly 
tired,  yet  feeling  happy  ;  the  pleasure  of  doing  good  still  far 
overbalanced  the  pains. 

Sunday  evening  was  another  lonely  time  ;  Ellen  spent  it  as 
best  she  could.  Sometimes  with  her  Bible  and  prayer,  and 
then  she  ceased  to  be  lonely  ;  sometimes  with  so  many  plea- 
sant thoughts  that  had  sprung  up  out  of  the  employments  of 
tlie  morning  that  she  could  not  be  sorrowful ;  sometimes  she 
could  not  help  being  both.  In  any  case,  she  was  very  apt 
when  the  darkness  fell  to  take  to  singing  hymns ;  and  it  grew 
to  be  a  habit  with  Mr.  Humphreys  when  he  heard  her  to  come 
out  of  his  study  and  lie  down  upon  the  sofa  and  listen,  suffer- 
ing no  light  in  the  room  but  that  of  the  fire.  Ellen  never  was 
better  pleased  than  when  her  Sunday  evenings  were  spent 
so.  She  sung  with  wonderful  pleasure  when  she  sung  for 
him  ;  and  she  made  it  her  business  to  fill  her  memory  with  all 
the  beautiful  hymns  she  ever  knew  or  could  find,  or  that  he 
liked  particularly. 

With  the  first  opening  of  her  eyes  on  Monday  morning 
came  the  thought,  ''John  will  be  at  home  to-day!"  That 
was  enough  to  carry  Ellen  pleasantly  through  whatever  the 
day  might  bring.    She  genei-ally  kept  her  mending  of  stock- 


208 


THE  -VMDE,  'RIDE  WORLD. 


ings  for  Monday  morning,  because  with  that  thought  in  her 
head  she  did  not  mind  anytliing.  She  had  no  visits  from 
Margery  on  Monday  ;  but  Ellen  sang  over  her  work,  sprang 
about  with  happy  energy,  and  studied  her  hardest ;  for  John 
in  what  he  expected  her  to  do  made  no  calculations  for  work 
of  which  he  knew  nothing.  He  was  never  at  home  till  late 
in  the  day  ;  and  when  Ellen  had  done  all  she  had  to  do  and 
set  the  supper-table  with  punctilious  care,  and  a  face  of  busy 
happiness  it  would  have  been  a  pleasure  to  see  if  there  had 
been  any  one  to  look  at  it,  she  would  take  what  happened  to 
be  the  favorite  book  and  plant  herself  near  the  glass  door ; 
like  a  very  epicure,  to  enjoy  both  the  present  and  the  future 
at  once.  Even  then  the  present  often  made  lier  forget 
the  future  ;  she  would  be  lost  in  her  book,  perhaps  hunting 
the  elephant  in  India  or  fighting  Nelson's  battles  over  again, 
and  the  first  news  she  would  have  of  what  she  had  set  her- 
self there  to  watch  for  would  be  the  click  of  the  door-lock  or 
a  tap  on  the  glass,  for  the  horse  was  almost  always  left  at  the 
further  door.  Back  then  she  came,  from  India  or  the  Nile  ; 
down  w^ent  the  book ;  Ellen  had  no  more  thouofht  but  for 
what  was  before  her. 

For  the  rest  of  that  evening  the  measure  of  Ellen's  happi- 
ness was  full.  It  did  not  matter  whether  John  were  in  a 
talkative  or  a  thoughtful  mood  ;  whether  he  spoke  to  her  and 
looked  at  her  or  not ;  it  w^as  pleasure  enough  to  feel  that  l:e 
w^as  there.  She  was  perfectly  satisfied  merely  to  sit  down 
near  him,  though  she  did  not  get  a  word  by  the  hour  together. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 


Ne  in  all  the  welkin  was  no  cloud. 

CUAUCKR. 

One  Monday  evening,  John  being  tired,  was  resting  in  tlie 
corner  of  the  sofa.  The  silence  had  lasted  a  long  time. 
Ellen  thought  so,  and  standing  near,  she  by-and-by  put  her 
hand  gently  into  one  of  his  which  he  was  thoughtfully  pass- 
ing through  the  locks  of  his  hair.  Her  hand  was  clasped 
immediately,  and  quitting  his  abstracted  look  he  asked  what 
she  had  been  doing  that  day  ?  Ellen's  thoughts  went  back  to 
toes  of  stockings  and  a  long  rent  in  her  dress ;  she  merely 
answered,  smiling,  that  she  had  been  busy. 

"Too  busy  I'm  afraid.  Come  round  here  and  sit  down. 
What  have  you  been  busy  about  ?" 

Ellen  never  thought  of  trying  to  evade  a  question  of  his. 
She  colored  and  hesitated.    He  did  not  press  it  any  further. 

"  Mr.  John,"  said  Ellen,  when  the  silence  seemed  to  have 
set  in  again, — "  there  is  something  I  have  been  wanting  to  ask 
you  this  great  while," — 

"  Why  hasn't  it  been  asked  this  great  while  ?" 

**  I  didn't  quite  like  to  ; — I  didn't  know  what  you  would 
say  to  it." 

"  I  am  sorry  I  am  at  all  terrible  to  you,  Ellie." 

"Why  you  are  not!"  said  Ellen  laughing, — "how  you 
talk  !  but  I  don't  much  like  to  ask  people  things." 

"  1  don't  know  about  that,"  said  he  smiling  ; — "  my  memory 
rather  seems  to  say  that  you  ask  things  pretty  often." 

"  Ah  yes, — those  things, — but  I  mean — I  don't  like  to  ask 
things  when  ]  am  not  quite  sure  how  people  will  like  it." 

"  You  are  right,  certainly,  to  hesitate  when  you  are  doubt- 
ful in  such  a  matter ;  but  it  is  best  not  to  be  doubtful  when 
I  am  concerned." 


210  THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


"  Well,"  said  Ellen, — "  I  wished  very  much — I  was  going 
to  ask — if  3^ou  would  have  any  objection  to  let  me  read  one 
of  your  sermons." 

"  None  in  the  world,  Ellie."  said  he  smiling, — "  but  they 
have  never  been  written  yet 

"  Not  written  !" 

"  No — there  is  all  I  had  to  guide  me  yesterday." 
"  A  half  sheet  of  paper  ! — and  only  written  on  one  side  ! 
— 0  I  can  make  nothing  of  this.    "What  is  this? — Hebrew  ?" 
"  Shorthand." 

"  And  is  that  all !  I  cannot  understand  it,"  said  Ellen, 
sighing  as  she  gave  back  the  paper, 

"  What  if  you  were  to  go  with  me  next  time  ?  They  want 
to  see  you  very  much  at  Ventnor." 

So  do  I  want  to  see  them,"  said  Ellen  ; — "  very  much 
indeed." 

"  Mrs.  Marshman  sent  a  most  earnest  request  by  me  that 
you  would  come  to  her  the  next  time  I  go  to  Randolph," 

Ellen  gave  the  matter  a  very  serious  consideration  ;  if  one 
might  judge  by  her  face. 

"  What  do  you  say  to  it  ?" 
I  should  like  to  go — very  much,"  said  Ellen  slowly, — 
"but"— 

"  But  you  do  not  think  it  would  be  pleasant  ?" 
No,  no,"  said  Ellen  laughing, — '*  I  don't  mean  that ;  but 
I  think  I  would  rather  not." 
-  Why  ?" 

"  O — I  have  some  reasons." 
You  must  give  me  very  good  ones,  or  I  think  I  shall 
overrule  your  decision,  Ellie." 

"  I  have  very  good  ones, — plenty  of  them, — only" — 
A  glance,  somewhat  comical  in  its  keenness,  overturned 
Ellen's  hesitation. 

*'  I  have  indeed,"  said  she  laughing, — "  only  I  did  not  want 
to  tell  you.  The  reason  why  I  didn't  wish  to  go  was  because 
I  thought  I  should  be  missed.  You  don't  know  how  much  I 
miss  you,"  said  she  with  tears  in  her  ej^es. 

"  That  is  what  I  was  afraid  of  !  Your  reasons  make  against 
you,  Ellie." 

I  hope  not ; — I  don't  think  they  ought," 

But  Ellie,  I  am  very  sure  my  father  would  rather  miss 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


211 


you  once  or  twice  than  have  you  want  what  would  be  good 
for  you." 

1  know  that  !  I  am  sure  of  that ;  but  that  don't  alter  my 
feeling,  you  know.    And  besides — that  isn't  all." 
"  Who  else  will  miss  you?" 

Ellen's  quick  look  seemed  to  say  that  he  knew  too  much 
already,  and  that  she  did  not  wish  him  to  know  more.  He 
did  not  repeat  the  question,  but  Ellen  felt  that  her  secret  was 
no  longer  entirely  her  own. 

"  And  what  do  you  do,  Ellie,  when  you  feel  lonely  ?"  he 
•went  on  presently. 

"  Ellen's  eyes  watered  at  the  tone  in  which  these  words 
were  spoken  ;  she  answered,  "  Different  things." 

"  The  best  remedy  for  it  is  prayer.  In  seeking  the  face  of 
our  best  friend  we  forget  the  loss  of  others.  That  is  what  I 
try,  Ellie,  when  I  feel  alone ; — do  }  ou  try  it  ?"  said  he 
softly. 

Ellen  looked  up  ;  she  could  not  well  speak  at  that  moment. 

"  There  is  an  antidote  in  that  for  every  trouble.  You 
know  who  said,  '  he  that  cometh  to  me  shall  never  hunger, 
and  he  that  belie veth  on  me  shall  never  thirst.'  " 

"It  troubles  me,"  said  he  after  a  pause, — "  to  leave  you 
so  much  alone.  I  don't  know  that  I  were  not  best  to  take 
you  with  me  every  week." 

"■  0  no  !"  said  Ellen, — "  don't  think  of  me.  I  don't  mind 
it  indeed.  I  do  not  always  feel  so — sometimes, — but  I  get 
along  very  well ;  and  I  would  rather  stay  here,  indeed  I 
would.  1  am  always  happy  as  soon  as  Monday  morning 
comes." 

He  rose  up  suddenly  and  began  to  walk  up  and  down  the 
room. 

"  Mr.  John"— 
"What,  Ellie?" 

"  I  do  sometimes  seek  His  face  very  much  when  I  cannot 
find  it." 

She  hid  her  face  in  the  sofa-cushion.  He  was  silent  a  few 
minutes,  and  then  stopped  his  walk. 

"  There  is  something  wrong  then  with  you,  Ellie,"  he  said 
gently.  "  How  has  it  been  through  the  week  ?  If  you  can 
let  day  after  day  pass  without  remembering  your  best  friend, 
it  may  be  that  when  you  feel  the  want  you  will  not  readily 


212 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  W^ORLD. 


find  him.  HoV  is  it  daily,  EUie?  is  seeking  his  face  your 
first  concern  ?  do  you  give  a  sufficient  time  faithfully  to  your 
Bible  and  prayer  ?" 

Ellen  shook  her  head  ;  no  words  were  possible.  He  took 
up  his  walk  again.  The  silence  had  lasted  a  length  of  tirae 
and  he  was  still  walking,  when  Ellen  came  to  his  side  and 
laid  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Have  you  settled  that  question  with  your  conscience, 
Ellie  ?" 

She  weepingly  answered  yes.  They  walked  a  few  turns 
up  and  down. 

"  Will  you  promise  me,  Ellie,  that  every  day  when  it  shall 
be  possible,  you  will  give  an  hour  at  least  to  this  business  ? — 
whatever  else  may  be  done  or  undone  ?" 

Ellen  promised  ;  and  then  with  her  hand  in  his  they  con- 
tinued their  walk  through  the  room  till  Mr.  Humphreys  and 
the  servants  came  in.  Her  brother's  prayer  that  night  Ellen 
never  forgot. 

jSTo  more  was  said  at  that  time  about  her  going  to  Ventnor, 
But  a  week  or  two  after  John  smilingly  told  her  to  get  all  her 
private  affairs  arranged  and  to  let  her  friends  know  they  need 
not  expect  to  see  her  the  next  Sunday,  for  that  he  was  going  to 
take  her  with  him.  As  she  saw  he  had  made  up  his  mind, 
Ellen  said  nothing  in  the  way  of  objecting  ;  and  noAv  that  the 
decision  was  taken  from  her  was  really  very  glad  to  go.  She 
arranged  everything,  as  he  had  said  ;  and  was  ready  Satur- 
day morning  to  set  off  with  a  very  light  heart. 

They  Aventin  the  sleigh.  In  a  happy  quiet  mood  of  mind, 
Ellen  enjoyed  everything  exceedingly.  She  had  not  been  to 
Ventnor  in  several  months ;  the  change  of  scene  was  very 
grateful.  She  could  not  help  thinking,  as  they  slid  along 
smoothly  and  swiftly  over  the  hard-frozen  snow,  that  it  loas 
a  good  deal  pleasanter,  for  once,  than  sitting  alone  in  the  par- 
lor at  home  with  her  work-basket.  Those  days  of  solitary 
duty,  however,  had  prepared  her  for  the  pleasure  of  this  one  ; 
Ellen  knew  that,  and  was  ready  to  be  thankful  for  everything. 
Throughout  the  whole  way,  whether  the  eye  and  mind  silently 
indulged  in  roving,  or  still  better  loved  talk  interrupted  that, 
as  it  often  did,  Ellen  was  in  a  state  of  most  unmixed  and  un- 
ruffled satisfaction.  John  had  not  the  slightest  reason  to 
doubt  the  correctness  of  his  judgment  in  bringing  her.  He 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


213 


went  in  but  a  moment  at  Yentnor,  and  leaving  her  there,  pro- 
ceeded himself  to  Randolph. 

Ellen  was  received  as  a  precious  lending  that  must  be  taken 
the  greatest  care  of  and  enjoyed  as  much  as  possible  while 
one  "has  it.  Mrs.  Marsliman  and  Mrs.  Chauncey  treated  her 
as  if  she  had  been  their  own  child.  Ellen  Chauncey  over- 
whelmed her  with  joyful  caresses,  and  could  scarcely  let  her 
out  of  her  arms  by  night  or  by  day.  She  was  more  than 
ever  Mr.  Marshman's  pet ;  but  indeed  she  was  well  petted  by 
all  the  family.    It  was  a  very  happy  visit. 

Even  Sunday  left  nothing  to  wish  for.  To  her  great  joy 
not  only  Mrs.  Chauncey  went  with  her  in  the  morning  to  hear 
her  brother,  (for  his  church  was  not  the  one  the  family  at- 
tended,) but  the  carriage  was  ordered  in  the  afternoon  also  ; 
and  Mrs.  Chauncey  and  her  daughter  and  Miss  Sophia  went 
with  her  again.  When  they  returned.  Miss  Sophia,  who  had 
taken,  a  very  great  fancy  to  her,  brought  her  into  her  own 
room  and  made  her  lie  down  with  her  upon  the  bed,  though 
Ellen  insisted  she  was  not  tired. 

"  Well  you  ought  to  be,  if  you  are  not,"  said  the  lady.  "I 
am.  Keep  away,  Ellen  Chauncey — you  can't  be  anywhere 
Avithout  talking.  You  can  hve  without  Ellen  for  half  an  hour, 
can't  ye  ?    Leave  us  a  little  while  in  quiet." 

Ellen  for  her  part  was  quite  willing  to  be  quiet.  But  Miss 
Sophia  was  not  sleepy,  and  it  soon  appeared  had  no  intention 
of  being  silent  herself. 

"  Well  how  do  you  like  your  brother  in  the  pulpit?"  she 
began. 

I  like  him  anywhere,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen,  smiling  a  very 
unequivocal  smile. 

"  I  thought  he  would  have  come  here  with  you  last  night ; 
— it  is  very  mean  of  him !  He  never  comes  near  us  ;  he 
always  goes  to  some  wretched  little  lodging  or  place  in  the 
town  there  ; — always  ;  never  so  much  as  looks  at  Ventnor, 
unless  sometimes  he  may  stop  for  a  minute  at  the  door." 

"  He  said  he  would  come  here  to-night,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Amazing  condescending  of  him  !  However,  he  isn't  lijie 
anybody  else  ;  I  suppose  we  must  not  judge  him  by  common 
rules.    How  is  Mr.  Humphreys,  Ellen  ?"  ^ 

•*  I  don't  know,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen, — "  it  is  hard  to  tell ; 


214 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  W^ORLD. 


he  doesn't  say  much.  I  think  he  is  rather  more  cheerful 
— if  anything — than  I  expected  he  would  be." 

"  And  how  do  you  get  along  there,  poor  child  !  with  only 
two  such  grave  people  about  you?" 

I  get  along  very  well,  ma'am,"  said  Ellen,  with  what 
Miss  Sophia  thought  a  somewhat  curious  smile. 

"  I  believe  you  will  grow  to  be  as  sober  as  the  rest  of 
them,"  said  she.    "  How  does  Mr.  John  behave  ?" 

Ellen  turned  so  indubitably  curious  a  look  upon  her  at  this 
that  Miss  Sophia  half  laughed  and  went  on, 

Mr.  Humphreys  was  not  always  as  silent  and  reserved  as 
he  is  now  ;  I  remember  him  when  he  was  different ; — though 
I  don't  think  he  ever  was  much  like  his  son.  Did  you  ever 
hear  about  it  ?" 

"  About  what,  ma'am  ?" 

"  0  all  about  his  commg  to  this  country,  and  what  brought 
him  to  Carra-carra?" 
No  ma'am." 

My  father,  you  see,  had  come  out  long  before,  but  the 
two  families  had  been  always  very  intimate  in  England,  and 
it  was  kept  up  after  he  came  away.  He  was  a  particular 
friend  of  an  elder  brother  of  Mr,  Humphreys  ;  his  estate 
and  my  grandfather's  lay  very  near  each  other ;  and  besides, 
there  were  other  things  that  drew  them  to  each  other  ; — 
he  married  my  aunt,  for  one.  My  father  made  several 
journeys  back  and  forth  in  the  course  of  years,  and  so 
kept  up  his  attachment  to  the  whole  family,  you  know ; 
and  he  became  very  desirous  to  get  Mr,  Humphreys  over 
here, — this  Mr,  Humphreys,  you  know.  He  was  the  younger 
brother — younger  brothers  in  England  generally  have  little 
or  nothing  ;  but  you  don't  know  anything  about  that,  Ellen, 
He  hadn't  anything  then  but  his  living,  and  that  was  a  small 
one  ;  he  had  some  property  left  him  though,  just  before  he 
came  to  America." 

"  But  Miss  Sophia" — Ellen  hesitated, — "  Are  you  sure 
they  would  like  I  should  hear  all  this  ?" 

"Why  yes,  child! — of  course  they  would;  everybody 
knows  it.  Some  things  made  Mr.  Humphreys  as  willing  to 
leave  England  about  that  time  as  my  father  was  to  have  him. 
An  excellent  situation  was  offered  him  in  one  of  the  best 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


215 


institutions  here,  and  he  came  out.  That's  abcut — let  me 
see — I  was  just  twelve  years  old  and  Alice  was  one  year 
younger.  She  and  I  were  just  like  sisters  always  from  that 
time.  We  lived  near  togethei',  and  saw  each  other  every 
day,  and  our  two  families  were  just  like  one.  But  they  were 
liked  by  everybody.  Mrs.  Humphreys  was  a  very  fine  per- 
son,— very  ;  oh  very  !  I  never  saw  any  w  oman  I  admired 
more.  Her  death  almost  killed  her  husband  ;  and  I  think 
Alice — I  don't  know  ! — there  isn't  the  least  sign  of  dehcate 
health  about  Mr.  Humphreys  nor  Mr.  John, — not  the  slight- 
est,— nor  about  Mrs.  Humphreys  either.  She  was  a  very 
fine  woman  !" 

"  How  long  ago  did  she  die  ?"  said  Ellen. 

"  Five, — six,  seven, — seven  years  ago.  Mr.  John  had  been 
left  in  England  till  a  little  before.  Mr.  Humphreys  was  never 
the  same  after  that.  He  wouldn't  hold  his  professorship  any 
longer  ;  he  couldn't  bear  society  ;  he  just  went  and  buried 
himself  at  Carra-carra.  That  was  a  little  after  we  came 
here." 

How  much  all  this  interested  Ellen  !  She  was  glad  how- 
ever when  Miss  Sophia  seemed  to  have  talked  herself  out,  for 
she  wanted  very  much  to  think  over  John's  sermon.  And  as 
Miss  Sophia  happily  fell  into  a  doze  soon  after,  she  had  a 
long  quiet  time  for  it,  till  it  grew  dark,  and  Ellen  Chauncey 
whose  impatience  could  hold  no  longer  came  to  seek  her. 

John  came  in  the  evening.  Ellen's  patience  and  pohteness 
were  severely  tried  in  the  course  of  it ;  for  while  she  longed 
exceedingly  to  hear  what  her  brother  and  the  older  members 
of  the  family  were  talking  about, — animated  delightful  con- 
versation she  was  sure, — Ellen  Chauncey  detained  her  in 
another  part  of  the  room  ;  and  for  a  good  pai-t  of  the  evening 
she  had  to  bridle  her  impatience,  and  attend  to  what  she  did 
not  care  about.  She  did  it,  and  Ellen  Chauncey  did  not 
suspect  it ;  and  at  last  she  found  means  to  draw  both  her  and 
herself  near  the  larger  group.  But  they  seemed  to  have  got 
through  what  they  were  talking  about ;  there  was  a  lull. 
Ellen  waited ;  and  hoped  they  would  begin  again. 

"  You  had  a  full  church  this  afternoon,  Mr.  John,"  said 
Miss  Sophia. 

He  bowed  gravely. 

"  Did  you  know  whom  you  had  among  your  auditors  ?  the 


216 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


  and    were  there  ;"   naming  some  distinguished 

stranorers  in  the  neio-hborhood. 
"  1  think  I  saw  them." 

"  You  *  think  '  you  did  !  Is  that  an  excess  of  pride  or  an 
excess  of  modesty  ?  Now  do  be  a  reasonable  creature,  and 
confess  that  you  are  not  insensible  to  the  pleasure  and  honor 
of  addressing-  such  an  audience  !" 

Ellen  saw  something  like  a  flash  of  contempt,  for  an  instant 
in  his  face,  instantly  succeeded  by  a  smile. 

"  Honestly,  Miss  Sophia,  I  was  much  more  interested  in  au 
old  woman  that  sat  at  the  foot  of  the  pulpit  stairs." 
That  old  thing  !"  said  Miss  Sophia. 

"  I  saw  her,"  said  Mrs.  Chauncey  ; — "  poor  old  creature  ! 
she  seemed  most  deeply  attentive  when  I  looked  at  her." 

"  /  saw  her  !"  cried  Ellen  Chauncey, — "  and  the  tears 
were  running  down  her  cheeks  several  times." 

"  I  didn't  see  her,"  said  Ellen  Montgomery,  as  John's  eye 
met  hers.    He  smiled. 

But  do  you  mean  to  say,"  continued  Miss  Sophia,  "  that 
you  are  absolutely  careless  as  to  who  hears  you  ?" 

"  I  have  always  one  hearer,  Miss  Sophia,  of  so  much  dig- 
nity, that  it  sinks  the  rest  into  great  insignificance." 

"  That  is  a  rebuke,"  said  Miss  Sophia  ; — "  but  nevertheless 
I  shall  tell  you  that  I  liked  you  very  much  this  afternoon." 

He  was  silent. 

"  I  suppose  you  will  tell  me  next,"  said  the  young  lady 
laughing,  "  that  you  are  sorry  to  hear  me  say  so." 
"  I  am,"  said  he  gravely. 
"  Why  ?— may  I  ask?" 

"  You  show  me  that  I  have  quite  failed  in  my  aim,  so  far 
at  least  as  one  of  my  hearers  was  concerned." 
How  do  you  know  that  ?" 

"  Do  you  remember  what  Louis  the  Fourteenth  said  to 
Massillon  ? — Mon  pere,  j'ai  entendu  plusieurs  grands  orateurs 
dans  ma  chapelle  ;  j'en  ai  etc  fort  content :  pour  vous,  toutes 
les  fois  que  je  vous  ai  entendu,  j'ai  ete  tres  mecontent  de 
;noi-meme !" 

Ellen  smiled.    Miss  Sophia  was  silent  for  an  instant. 

"  Then  you  really  mean  to  be  understood,  that  provided 
you  fail  of  your  aim,  as  you  say,  you  do  not  care  a  straw 
what  people  think  of  you?" 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


21T 


"  As  I  would  take  a  bankrupt's  promissory  note  in  lieu  of 
told  gold.  It  gives  me  small  gratification  Miss  Sophia, — 
very  small  indeed, — to  see  the  bowing  heads  of  the  grain  that 
yet  my  sickle  cannot  reach." 

"  I  agree  with  you  most  heartily,"  said  Mr.  George  Marsh- 
man.  The  conversation  dropped ;  and  the  two  gentlemen 
began  another  in  an  under  tone,  pacing  up  and  down  the 
floor  together. 

The  next  morning,  not  sorrowfully,  Ellen  entered  the  sleigh 
again  and  they  set  oft'  homewards. 

"  What  a  sober  little  piece  that  is,"  said  Mr.  Howard. 

"  0  ! — sober  !"  cried  Ellen  Chauncey  ; — **  that  is  because 
you  don't  know  her,  uncle  Howard.  She  is  the  cheerfuUest, 
happiest  girl  that  I  ever  saw, — always." 

"  Except  Ellen  Chauncey, — always,"  said  her  uncle. 

"  She  is  a  singular  child,"  said  Mrs.  Gillepsie.  She  is 
grave  certainly,  but  she  don't  look  moped  at  all,  and  I 
should  think  she  would  be,  to  death." 

"  There's  not  a  bit  of  moping  about  her,"  said  Miss  So- 
phia. "  She  can  laugh  and  smile  as  well  as  anybody  ;  though 
she  has  sometimes  that  pecuhar  grave  look  of  the  eyes  that 
would  make  a  stranger  doubt  it.  I  think  John  Humphreys 
has  infected  her ;  he  has  something  of  the  same  look  him- 
self." 

"  I  am  not  sure  whether  it  is  the  eyes  or  the  mouth  So- 
phia," said  Mr.  Howard. 

"  It  is  both !"  said  Miss  Sophia.  "  Did  you  ever  see  the 
eyes  look  one  way,  and  the  mouth  another  ?" 

"  And  besides,"  said  Ellen  Chauncey,  "  she  has  reason 
to  look  sober,  I  am  sure." 

"  She  is  a  fascinating  child,"  said  Mrs.  Gillepsie.  *'  I  can- 
not comprehend  where  she  gets  the  manner  she  has.  I 
never  saw  a  more  perfectl}^  polite  child ;  and  there  she  has 
been  for  months  with  nobody  to  speak  to  but  two  gentlemen 
and  the  servants.  It  is  natural  to  her,  I  suppose ;  she  can 
have  nobody  to  teach  her." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  as  to  that,"  said  Miss  Sophia  ;  but  I 
have  noticed  the  same  thing  often.  Did  you  observe  her 
last  night,  Matilda,  when  John  Humphreys  came  in  ?  you  were 
talking  to  her  at  the  moment ; — I  saw  her,  before  the  door  was 
opened, — I  saw  the  color  come  and  her  eye  sparkle,  but  she 
VOL.  II.  10 


218 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


did  not  look  towards  him  for  an  instant,  till  you  had  finished 
what  you  were  saying  to  her  and  she  had  given,  as  she  al- 
ways does,  her  modest  quiet  answer  ;  and  then  her  eye 
went  straight  as  an  arrow  to  where  he  was  standing." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Chauncey,  "  she  never  moved 
towards  him  when  you  did,  but  stayed  quietly  on  that  side  of 
the  room  with  the  young  ones  till  he  came  round  to  them> 
and  it  was  some  time  too." 

"She  is  an  odd  child,"  said  Miss  Sophia,  laughing, — 
"what  do  you  think  she  said  to  me  yesterday?  I  was  talk- 
ing to  her  and  getting  rather  communicative  on  the  subject 
of  my  neighbors'  affairs  ;  and  she  asked  me  gravely, — the  httle 
monkey  ! — if  I  was  sure  they  would  like  her  to  hear  it  ?  I 
felt  quite  rebuked  ;  though  I  didn't  choose  to  let  her  know 
as  much." 

"  I  wish  Mr.  John  would  bring  her  every  week,"  said  Ellen 
Chauncey  sighing ;  "it  would  be  too  pleasant  to  have 
her." 

Towards  the  end  of  the  winter  Mr.  Humphreys  began  to 
propose  that  his  son  should  visit  England  and  Scotland  dur- 
ing the  following  summer.  He  wished  him  to  see  his  family 
and  to  know  his  native  country,  as  well  as  some  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished men  and  institutions  in  both  kingdoms.  Mr. 
George  Marshman  also  urged  upon  him  some  business  in 
which  he  thought  he  could  be  eminently  useful.  But  Mr. 
John  declined  both  propositions,  still  thinking  he  had  more 
important  duties  at  home.  This  only  cloud  that  rose  above 
Ellen's  horizon,  scattered  away. 

One  evening,  it  was  a  Monday,  in  the  twilight,  John  was 
as  usual  pacing  up  and  down  the  floor.  Ellen  was  reading 
in  the  window. 

"  Too  late  for  you,  Ellie." 

"  Yes,"  said  Ellen, — "  I  know — I  will  stop  in  two 
minutes" — 

But  in  a  quarter  of  that  time  she  had  lost  every  thought 
of  stopping,  and  knew  no  longer  that  it  was  growing  dusk. 
Somebody  else,  however,  had  not  forgotten  it.  The  two 
minutes  were  not  ended,  when  a  hasid  came  between  her  and 
the  page  and  quietly  drew  the  book  away. 

"0  1  beg  your  pardon!"  cried  Ellen  starting  up.  "I 
entirely  forgot  all  about  it !" 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


219 


He  did  not  look  displeased ;  he  was  smiling.  He  drew 
her  arm  within  his. 

"Come  and  walk  with  me.  Have  you  had  any  exercise 
to-day  ?" 

"  No." 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  had  a  good  deal  to  do,  and  I  had  fixed  myself  so  nicely 
on  the  sofa  with  my  books  ;  and  it  looked  cold  and  disagree- 
able out  of  doors." 

"  Since  when  have  you  ceased  to  be  a  fixture  ?" 

"What! — Oh,"  said  Ellen  laughing, — "how  shall  I  ever 
get  rid  of  that  troublesome  word  ?  What  shall  I  say  ? — I 
had  arranged  myself,  established  myself,  so  nicely  on  the 
sofa." 

"  And  did  you  think  that  a  sufficient  reason  for  not  going 
out?" 

"  No,"  said  Ellen,  "  I  did  not ;  and  I  did  not  decide  that  I 
would  not  go  ;  and  yet  I  let  it  keep  me  at  home  after  all ; — 
just  as  I  did  about  reading  a  few  minutes  ago.  I  meant  to 
stop,  but  I  forgot  it,  and  1  should  have  gone  on  I  don't  know 
how  long  if  you  had  not  stopped  me.    I  Very  often  do  so." 

He  paused  a  minute,  and  then  said, 

"  You  must  not  do  so  any  more,  Ellie. 

The  tone,  in  which  there  was  a  great  deal  both  of  love  and 
decision,  wound  round  Ellen's  heart,  and  constrained  her  to 
answer  immediately, 

"  I  will  not— I  will  not." 

"  Never  parley  with  conscience ; — it  is  a  dangerous  habit." 
"But  then — it  was  only — " 

"  About  trifles ;  I  grant  you ;  but  the  habit  is  no  trifle. 
There  will  not  be  a  just  firmness  of  mind  and  steadfastness 
of  action,  where  tampering  with  duty  is  permitted  even  in 
little  things." 

"  I  will  try  not  to  do  it,"  Ellen  repeated. 

"  No,"  said  he  smiling, — "  let  it  stand  as  at  first.  *  I wiU 
not,'  means  something  ;  '  /  will  try,'  is  very  apt  to  come  to 
nothing.  *  I  will  keep  thy  precepts  with  my  whole  heart !' — 
not  *  I  will  try'  Your  reliance  is  precisely  the  same  in  either 
case." 

"  I  will  not,  John,"  said  Ellen  smiling. 

"  What  were  you  poring  over  so  intently  a  while  ago  ?" 


220 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


"  It  was  an  old  magazine — Blackwood's  Magazine,  I  be- 
lieve, is  the  name  of  it — 1  found  two  great  piles  of  them  in  a 
closet  up  stairs  the  other  day  ;  and  I  brought  this  one  down." 

"  This  is  the  first  that  you  have  read?" 

"  Yes — I  got  very  much  interested  in  a  curious  story  there  ; 
—why  ?" 

What  will  you  say,  Ellie,  if  I  ask  you  to  leave  the  rest  of 
the  two  piles  unopened  ?" 

*'  Why,  I  will  say  that  I  will  do  it,  of  course,"  said  Ellen, 
with  a  little  smothered  sigh  of  regret  however ; — "  if  you 
wish  it." 

"  I  do  wish  it,  Ellie." 

"Very  well — I'll  let  them  alon-e  then.  I  have  enough  other 
reading  ;  I  don't  know  how  I  happened  to  take  that  one  up  ; 
because  I  saw  it  there,  I  suppose." 

"  Have  you  finished  Nelson  yet  ?" 

**  0  yes  ! — I  finished  it  Saturday  night.  O  I  like  it  very 
much  !  I  am  going  all  over  it  again  though.  I  like  Nelson 
very  much  ;  don't  you?" 

**  Yes — as  well  as  I  can  like  a  man  of  very  fine  quahties 
without  principle." 

"  Was  he  that  ?"  said  Ellen. 

"  Yes  ;  did  you  not  find  it  out  ?  I  am  afraid  your  eyes  were 
blinded  by  admiration." 

"  Were  they  !"  said  Ellen.  "  I  thought  he  was  so  very  fine, 
in  everything  ;  and  I  should  be  sorry  to  think  he  was  not." 

"  Look  over  the  book  again  by  all  means,  with  a  more  cri- 
tical eye  ;  and  when  you  have  done  so  you  shall  give  me  your 
cool  estimate  of  his  character." 

"  0  me  !"  said  Ellen.  "  Well, — but  I  don't  know  whether 
I  can  give  you  a  cool  estimate  of  him  ; — however  I'll  try.  I 
cannot  think  coolly  of  him  now,  just  after  Trafalgar.  I  think 
it  was  a  shame  that  Collingwood  did  not  anchor  as  Nelson 
told  him  to  ;  don't  you  ?  I  think  he  might  have  been  obeyed 
while  he  was  living,  at  least." 

"  It  is  difficult,"  said  John  smiling,  "  to  judge  correctly  of 
many  actions  without  having  been  on  the  spot  and  in  the  cir- 
cumstances of  the  actors.  I  believe  you  and  I  must  leave  the 
question  of  Trafalgar  to  more  nautical  heads." 

"  How  pleasant  this  moonlight  is  !"  said  Ellen. 

**  What  makes  it  pleasant  ?" 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


221 


What  maJces  it  pleasant ! — I  don't  know  ;  I  never  thought 
of  such  a  thing.  It  is  made  to  be  pleasant, — I  can't  tell 
why;  can  anybody  ?" 

"  The  eye  loves  light  for  many  reasons,  but  all  kinds  of 
light  are  not  equally  agreeable.  What  makes  the  peculiar 
charm  of  these  long  streams  of  pale  light  across  the  floor  ? 
and  the  shadowy  brightness  without?" 

You  must  tell,"  said  Ellen  ;  "  I  cannot." 

"  You  know  we  enjoy  anything  much  more  by  contrast ;  I 
think  that  is  one  reason.  Night  is  the  reign  of  darkness, 
which  we  do  not  love  ;  and  here  is  light  strugghng  with  the 
darkness,  not  enough  to  overcome  it  entirely,  but  yet  banish- 
ing it  to  nooks  and  cornei-s  and  distant  parts,  by  the  side  of 
which  it  shows  itself  in  contrasted  beauty.  Our  eyes  bless  the 
unwonted  victory." 

"  Yes,"  said  Ellen, — "  we  only  have  moonlight  nights  once 
in  a  while." 

"  But  that  is  only  one  reason  out  of  many,  and  not  the 
greatest.  It  is  a  very  refined  pleasure,  and  to  resolve  it  into 
its  elements  is  something  like  trying  to  divide  one  of  these 
same  white  rays  of  light  into  the  many  various  colored  ones 
that  go  to  form  it ; — and  not  by  any  means  so  easy  a  task." 

"  Then  it  was  no  wonder  I  couldn't  answer,"  said  Ellen. 

*'  No — you  are  hardly  a  full-grown  philosopher  yet,  Ellie." 

"  The  moonlight  is  so  calm  and  quiet,"  Ellen  observed  ad- 
miringly. 

"  And  why  is  it  calm  and  quiet  ? — I  must  have  an  answer 
to  that." 

"  Because  we  are  generally  calm  and  quiet  at  such  times  ?" 
Ellen  ventured  after  a  little  thought. 

"  Precisely ! — we  and  the  world.  And  association  has 
given  the  moon  herself  the  same  character.  Besides  that  her 
mild  sober  light  is  not  fitted  for  the  purposes  of  active  em- 
ployment, and  therefore  the  more  graciously  invites  us  to  the 
pleasures  of  thought  and  fancy." 

"  I  am  loving  it  more  and  more,  the  more  you  talk  about 
it,"  said  Ellen  laughing. 

"  And  theie  you  have  touched  another  reason,  Ellie,  for 
the  pleasure  we  have,  not  only  in  moonlight,  but  in  most  other 
things.  When  two  things  have  been  in  the  mind  together, 
and  made  any  impression,  the  mind  associates  them ;  and  you 


222 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


cannot  see  or  think  of  the  one  without  bringing  back  the  re- 
membrance or  the  feehng  of  the  other.  If  we  have  enjoyed 
the  moonhght  in  pleasant  scenes,  in  happy  hours,  with  friends 
that  we  lo\  ed, — though  the  sight  of  it  may  not  always  make 
us  directly  remember  them,  it  yet  brings  with  it  a  waft  from 
the  feeling  of  the  old  times, — sweet  as  long  as  life  lasts  !" 

**  And  sorrowful  things  may  be  associated  too  ?"  said  Ellen. 

"  Yes,  and  sorrowful  things. — But  this  power  of  associa- 
tion is  the  cause  of  half  the  pleasure  we  enjoy.  There  is  a 
tune  my  mother  used  to  sing — I  cannot  hear  it  now  without 
being  carried  swiftly  back  to  my  boyish  days, — to  the  very 
spirit  of  the  time  ;  1  feel  myself  spring  over  the  greensward  as 
I  did  then." 

"  Oh  I  know  that  is  true,"  said  Ellen.    "  The  camellia,  the 
white  camellia  you  know, — I  like  it  so  much  ever  since  what 
you  said  about  it  one  day.    I  never  see  it  without  thinking  of 
it ;  and  it  would  not  seem  half  so  beautiful  but  for  that." 
What  did  I  say  about  it?" 

"  Don't  you  remember  ?  you  said  it  was  like  what  you 
ought  to  be,  and  what  you  should  be  if  you  ever  reached 
heaven ;  and  you  repeated  that  verse  in  the  Revelation  about 
*  those  that  have  not  defiled  their  garments.'  I  always  think 
of  it.    It  seems  to  give  me  a  lesson." 

"  How  eloquent  of  beautiful  lessons  all  nature  would  be  to 
us,"  said  John  musingly,  if  we  had  but  the  eye  and  the 
ear  to  take  them  in." 

"  And  in  that  way  you  would  heap  associations  upon  asso- 
ciations ?" 

"  Yes  ;  till  our  storehouse  of  pleasure  was  very  full." 
You  do  that  now,"  -said  Ellen.     I  wish  you  would  teach 
me." 

"  I  have  read  precious  things  sometimes  in  the  bunches  of 
flowers  you  are  so  fond  of,  EUie.    Cannot  you  ?" 

"  I  don't  know — I  only  think  of  themselves ;  except — 
Bomftimes,  they  make  me  think  of  Alice." 

"  You  know  from  any  works  we  may  form  some  judgment 
of  the  mind  and  character  of  their  author  ?" 

"  From  their  writings,  I  know  you  can,"  said  Ellen ! — 
from  what  other  works  ?" 

"  From  any  which  are  not  mechanical ;  from  any  in  which 
the  mind,  not  the  hand,  has  been  the  creating  power.    I  saw 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


223 


you  very  much  interested  the  other  day  in  the  Eddystone 
lighthouse ;  did  it  help  you  to  form  no  opinion  of  Mr,  Smea- 
ton?" 

"  Why  yes,  certainly,"  said  Ellen, — **  I  admired  him  ex- 
ceedingly for  his  cleverness  and  perseverance ;  but  what  other 
works  ? — I  can't  think  of  any." 

"  There  is  the  lighthouse, — that  is  one  thing.  What  do 
you  think  of  the  ocean  waves  that  now  and  then  overwhelm  it  ?'* 

Ellen  half  shuddered.  "  I  shouldn't  like  to  go  to  sea,  John! 
But  you  were  speaking  of  men's  works  and  women's  works  ?" 

"  Well,  women's  works, — I  cannot  help  forming  some  no- 
tion of  a  lady's  mind  and  character  from  the  way  she  dresses 
herself." 

"  Can  you  !  do  you  !" 

"  I  cannot  help  doing  it.  Many  things  appear  in  the  style 
of  a  lady's  dress  that  she  never  dreams  of ; — the  style  of  her 
thoughts  among  others." 

It  is  a  pity  ladies  didn't  know  that,"  said  Ellen  laughing ; 
— they  would  be  very  careful," 

"  It  wouldn't  mend  the  matter,  Ellie.  That  is  one  of  the 
things  in  which  people  are  obliged  to  speak  truth.  As  the 
mind  is,  so  it  will  show  itself." 

But  we  have  got  a  great  way  from  the  flowers,"  said 
Ellen. 

"  You  shall  bring  me  some  to-morrow,  Ellie,  and  we  will 
read  them  together." 

"  There  are  plenty  over  there  now,"  said  Ellen,  looking 
towards  the  little  flower-stand,  which  was  as  full  and  as 
flourishing  as  ever, — but  we  couldn't  see  them  well  by  this 
hght." 

"  A  bunch  of  flowers  seems  to  bring  me  very  near  the 
hand  that  made  them.  They  are  the  work  of  his  fingers  ;  and 
I  cannot  consider  them  without  being  joyfully  assured  of  the 
glory  and  loveliness  of  their  Creator.  It  is  written  as  plainly 
to  me  in  their  delicate  painting  and  sweet  breath  and  curious 
structure,  as  in  the  very  pages  of  the  Bible  ;  though  no  doubt 
without  the  Bible  I  could  not  read  the  flowers." 

I  never  thought  much  of  that,"  said  Ellen.  And  then 
you  find  particular  lessons  in  particular  flowers  ?" 

"Sometimes." 

"  0  come  here  !"  said  Ellen,  pulling  him  towards  the  flower- 


224 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


stand, — "and  tell  me  what  this  daphne  is  like — you  need  not 
see  that,  only  smell  it,  that's  enough ; — do  John,  and  tell  me 
what  it  is  hke  !" 

He  smiled  as  he  complied  with  her  request,  and  walked 
away  again. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  ?"  said  Ellen ;  "  I  know  you  have 
thought  of  something." 

"  it  is  like  the  fragrance  that  Christian  society  sometimes 
leaves  upon  the  spirit ;  when  it  is  just  what  it  ought  to  be." 
My  Mr.  Marshman  !"  exclaimed  Ellen. 

John  smiled  again.  "  I  thought  of  him,  Elhe.  And  I 
thought  also  of  Cowper's  lines  : — 

"  '  When  one  who  holds  communion  with  the  skies, 
Has  filled  his  urn  where  those  pure  waters  rise. 
Descends  and  dwells  among  us  meaner  things, — 
It  is  as  if  an  angel  shook  his  wings  !'  " 

Ellen  was  silent  a  minute  from  pleasure. 

"  Well,  I  have  got  an  association  now  with  the  daphne !" 
she  said  joyously  ;  and  presently  added  sighing, — "  How 
much  you  see  in  everything,  that  I  do  not  see  at  all." 

"  Time,  Ellie,  "  said  John  ; — "  there  must  be  time  for  that. 
It  will  come.  Time  is  cried  out  upon  as  a  great  thief ;  it  is 
people's  own  fault.  Use  him  but  well ;  and  you  will  get  from 
his  liaud  more  than  he  will  ever  take  from  you." 

Ellen's  thoughts  traveled  on  a  little  way  from  this  speech, 
— and  then  came  a  sigh,  of  some  burden,  as  it  seemed  ;  and 
her  face  was  softly  laid  against  the  arm  she  held. 

"  Let  us  leave  all  that  to  God,"  said  John  gently. 

Ellen  started.  How  did  you  know — how  could  you  know 
what  I  was  thinking  of  ?" 

•'Perhaps  my  thoughts  took  the  same  road,"  said  he 
smiling.  "  But  Ellie,  dear,  let  us  look  to  that  one  source  of 
happiness  that  can  never  be  dried  up  ;  it  is  not  safe  to  count 
upon  anythmg  else." 

"  It  is  not  wonderful,"  said  Ellen  in  a  tremulous  voice, — 
"ifl"— 

It  is  not  wonderful,  Ellie,  nor  wrong.    But  we,  who  look 
up  to  God  as  our  Father, — who  rejoice  in  Christ  our  Saviour, 
— we  are  happy,  whatever  beside  we  may  gain  or  lose.  Let 
us  trust  him,  and  never  doubt  that,  Ellie." 
"  But  still"— said  Ellen. 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


225 


**  But  still,  we  will  hope  and  pray  alike  in  that  matter. 
And  while  we  do,  and  may,  with  our  whole  hearts,  let  us 
leave  ourselves  in  our  Father's  hand.  The  joy  of  the  knowl- 
edge of  Christ !  the  joy  the  world  cannot  intermeddle  with, 
the  peace  it  cannot  take  away  ! — Let  us  make  that  our  own, 
Ellie  ;  and  for  the  rest,  put  away  all  anxious  care  about  what 
we  cannot  control." 

Ellen's  hand  however  did  not  just  then  lie  quite  so  lightly 
on  his  arm  as  it  did  a  few  minutes  ago ;  he  could  feel  that ; 
and  could  see  the  glitter  of  one  or  two  tears  in  the  moonlight 
as  they  fell.  The  hand  was  fondly  taken  in  his  ;  and  as  they 
slowly  paced  up  and  down,  he  went  on  in  low  tones  of  kind- 
ness and  cheerfulness  with  his  pleasant  talk,  till  she  was  too 
happy  in  the  present  to  be  anxious  about  the  future ;  looked 
up  again  brightly  into  his  face,  and  questions  and  answers  came 
as  gayly  as  ever. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 


Who  knows  what  may  happen  ?  Patience  and  shuffle  the  cards  !  .  .  .  Perhaps 
after  all,  I  shall  same  day  go  to  Rome,  and  come  back  St.  Peter. — Lonopkllow. 

The  rest  of  the  winter,  or  rather  the  early  part  of  the 
spring,  passed  happily  away.  March,  at  Thirlwall,  seemed 
more  to  belong  to  the  former  than  the  latter.  Then  spring 
came  in  good  earnest ;  April  and  May  brought  warm  days 
and  wild  flowers.  Ellen  refreshed  herself  and  adorned  the 
room  with  quantities  of  them ;  and  as  soon  as  might  be  she 
set  about  restoring  the  winter-ruined  garden.  Mr.  John  was 
not  fond  of  gardening ;  he  provided  her  with  all  manner  of 
tools,  ordered  whatever  work  she  wanted  to  be  done  for  her, 
supplied  her  with  new  plants,  and  seeds,  and  roots,  and  was 
always  ready  to  give  her  his  help  in  any  operations  or  press 
of  business  that  called  for  it.  But  for  the  most  part  Ellen 
hoed,  and  raked,  and  transplanted,  and  sowed  seeds,  while 
he  walked  or  read ;  often  giving  his  counsel  indeed,  asked 
and  unasked,  and  always  coming  in  between  her  and  any 
difficult  or  hefivy  job.  The  hours  thus  spent  were  to  Ellen 
hours  of  unmixed  delight.  When  he  did  not  choose  to  go 
himself  he  sent  Thomas  with  her,  as  the  garden  was  some 
little  distance  down  the  mountain,  away  from  the  house  and 
from  everybody  ;  he  never  allowed  her  to  go  there  alone. 

As  if  to  verify  Mr.  Van  Brunt's  remark,  that  "  something 
is  always  happening  most  years,"  about  the  middle  of  May 
there  came  letters  that  after  all  determined  John's  going 
abroad.  The  sudden  death  of  two  relatives,  one  after  the 
other,  had  left  the  family  estate  to  Mr.  Humphreys  ;  it  re- 
quired the  personal  attendance  either  of  himself  or  his  son ; 
he  could  not,  therefore  his  son  must,  go.  Once  on  the  other 
side  of  the  Atlantic,  Mr.  John  thought  it  best  his  going  should 
fulfill  all  the  ends  for  which  both  Mr.  Humphreys  and  Mr. 
Marshman  had  desired  it ;  this  would  occasion  his  stay  to  be 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


227 


•prolonged  to  at  least  a  year,  probably  more.  And  he  must 
set  off  without  delay. 

In  the  midst,  not  of  his  hurry,  for  Mr.  John  seldom  was  or 
seemed  to  be  in  a  hurry  about  anything ;  but  in  the  midst  of 
his  business,  he  took  special  care  of  everything  that  concerned 
or  could  possibly  concern  Ellen.  He  arranged  what  books 
she  should  read,  what  studies  she  should  carry  on  ;  and 
directed  that  about  these  matters  as  well  as  about  all  others 
she  should  keep  up  a  constant  communication  with  him  by 
letter.  He  requested  Mrs.  Chauncey  to  see  that  she  wanted 
nothing,  and  to  act  as  her  general  guardian  in  all  minor 
things,  respecting  which  Mr.  Humphreys  could  be  expected 
to  take  no  thought  whatever.  And  what  Ellen  thanked  him 
for  most  of  all,  he  found  time  for  all  his  wonted  rides,  and 
she  thought  more  than  his  wonted  talks  with  her ;  endeavor- 
ing, as  he  well  knew  how,  both  to  strengthen  and  cheer  her 
mind  in  view  of  his  long  absence.  The  memory  of  those 
hours  never  went  from  her. 

The  family  at  Ventnor  were  exceeding  desirous  that  she 
should  make  one  of  them  during  all  the  time  John  should  be 
gone ;  they  urged  it  with  every  possible  argument.  Ellen 
said  little,  but  he  knew  she  did  not  wish  it ;  and  finally  com- 
pounded the  matter  by  arranging  that  she  should  stay  at  the 
parsonage  through  the  summer,  and  spend  the  winter  at 
Ventnor,  sharing  all  Ellen  Chauncey 's  advantages  of  every 
kind.  Ellen  was  all  the  more  pleased  with  this  arrangement 
that  Mr.  George  Marshman  would  be  at  home.  The  church 
John  had  been  serving  were  become  exceedingly  attached  to 
him  and  would  by  no  means  hear  of  giving  him  up  ;  and  Mr. 
George  had  engaged,  if  possible,  to  supply  his  place  while  he 
should  be  away.  Ellen  Chauncey  was  in  ecstatics.  And  it 
was  further  promised  that  the  summer  should  not  pass  with- 
out as  many  visits  on  both  sides  as  could  well  be  brought 
about. 

Ellen  had  the  comfort,  at  the  last,  of  hearing  John  say  that 
she  had  behaved  unexceptionably  well  where  he  knew  it  was 
difficult  for  her  to  behave  well  at  all.  That  was  a  comfort, 
from  him,  whose  notions  of  unexceptionable  behavior,  she 
knew,  were  remarkably  high.  But  the  parting,  after  all,  was 
a  dreadfully  hard  matter ;  though  softened  as  much  as  it 
could  be  at  the  time  and  rendered  very  sweet  to  Ellen's 


228 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


memory  by  the  tenderness,  gentleness,  and  kindness,  witlj 
which  her  brother  without  checking  soothed  her  grief.  He 
was  to  go  early  in  the  morning  ;  and  he  made  Ellen  take 
leave  of  him  the  night  before ;  but  he  was  in  no  hurry  to 
send  her  away  ;  and  when  at  length  he  told  her  it  was  very 
late,  and  she  rose  up  to  go,  he  went  with  her  to  the  very  doo? 
of  her  room  and  there  bade  her  good-night. 

How  the  next  days  passed  Ellen  hardly  knew  ;  they  were 
unspeakably  long. 

Not  a  week  after,  one  morning  Nancy  Vawse  came  into 
the  kitchen,  and  asked  in  her  blunt  fashion, 
Is  Ellen  Montgomery  at  home  ?" 

"  I  believe  Miss  Ellen  is  in  the  parlor,"  said  Margery  dryly. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  her." 

Margery  silently  went  across  the  hall  to  the  sitting-room. 
Miss  Ellen,  dear,"  she  said  softly,  "here  is  that  Nancy 
girl  wanting  to  speak  with  you, — will  you  please  to  see  her  ?" 

Ellen  eagerly  desired  Margery  to  let  her  in,  by  no  means 
displeased  to  have  some  interruption  to  the  sorrowful  thoughts 
she  could  not  banish.    She  received  Nancy  very  kindly. 

"  Well,  I  declare,  Ellen !"  said  that  young  lady,  whose 
wandering  eye  was  upon  everything  but  Ellen  herself, — "  aint 
you  as  fine  as  a  fiddle  ?  I  guess  you  never  touch  your  fin- 
gers to  a  file  now-a-days, — do  you?" 

"  A  file  !"  said  Ellen. 

**  You  ha'n't  forgot  what  it  means,  I  s'pose,"  said  Nancy 
somewhat  scornfully, — "  'cause  if  you  think  I'm  a  going  to 
swallow  that,  you're  mistaken.  I've  seen  you  file  off  tables 
down  yonder  a  few  times,  ha'n't  I  ?" 

"01  remember  now,"  said  Ellen  smilinof ; — "it  is  so  lonof 
since  I  heard  the  word  that  I  didn't  know  what  you  meant. 
Margery  calls  it  a  dishcloth,  or  a  floorcloth,  or  something 
else." 

"  Well  you  don't  touch  one  now-a-days,  do  you  V 

"  No,"  said  Ellen,  "  I  have  other  things  to  do." 

"  Well  I  guess  you  have.  You've  got  enough  of  books 
now,  for  once,  ha'n't  you  ?  What  a  lot ! — I  say,  Ellen,  have 
you  got  to  read  all  these  ?" 

"  I  hope  so,  in  time,"  said  Ellen  smiling.  *  Why  haven't 
you  been  to  see  me  before  ?" 

*'  Oh — I  don't  know  !" — said  Nancy,  whose  roving  eye 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


229 


looked  a  little  as  if  she  felt  herself  out  of  her  sphere.  "  1 
didn't  know  as  you  would  care  to  see  me  now." 

•*  I  am  very  sorry  you  should  think  so,  Nancy  ;  I  would 
be  as  glad  to  see  you  as  ever.  I  have  not  forgotten  all  your 
old  kindness  to  me  when  aunt  Fortune  was  sick." 

"  You've  forgotten  all  that  went  before  that,  I  s'pose,"  said 
Nancy  with  a  half  laugh.  "  You  beat  all !  Most  folks  re- 
member and  forget  just  t'other  way  exactly.  But  besides, 
I  did'nt  know  but  I  should  catch  myself  in  queer  com- 
pany." 

"  Well — I  am  all  alone  now,"  said  Ellen  with  a  sigh. 
"  Yes,  if  you  warn't  I  w^ouldn't  be  here,  I  can  tell  you, 
What  do  you  think  I  have  come  for  to-day,  Ellen  ?" 
"  For  anything  but  to  see  me  ?" 
Nancy  nodded  very  decisively. 
"What?" 
"  Guess." 

How  can  I  possibly  guess  ?  What  have  you  got  lucked 
up  in  your  apron  there  ?" 

Ah  ! — that's  the  very  thing,"  said  Nancy.  "  Whai  have 
I  got,  sure  enough  ?" 

"  Well,  I  can't  tell  through  your  apron, "  said  Ellen 
smiling. 

"  And  /  can't  tell  either  ; — that's  more,  aint  it  ?  Now 
listen,  and  I'll  tell  you  where  I  got  it,  and  then  you  ma)'  find 
out  what  it  is,  for  I  don't  know.  Promise  you  won't  tell  any- 
body." 

"I  don't  like  to  promise  that,  Nancy." 
"  Why  ?" 

"  Because  it  might  be  something  I  ought  to  tell  somebody 
about." 

"  But  it  aint." 

"  If  it  isn't  I  won't  tell.  Can't  you  leave  it  so  ?" 
But  what  a  plague  !  Here  I  have  gone  and  done  all  this 
just  for  you,  and  now  you  must  go  and  make  a  fuss.  What 
hurt  would  it  do  you  to  promise  ? — it's  nobody's  business  but 
yours  and  mine,  and  somebody  else's  that  won't  make  any 
talk  about  it  I  promise  you." 

"  I  won't  speak  of  it  certainly,  Nancy,  unless  I  think  I 
ought ;  can't  you  trust  me  ?" 

"  I  wouldn't  give  two  straws  for  anybody  else's  say  so,"  said 


230 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


Nancy  ; — "  but  as  you're  as  stiff  as  the  mischief  I  s'pose  I'll 
have  to  let  it  go.  I'll  trust  you  !  Now  hsten.  It  don't  look 
like  anything,  does  it  ?" 

"  Why  no,"  said  Ellen  laughing  ;  "  you  hold  your  apron  so 
loose  that  1  cannot  see  anything." 

"  Well  now  listen.  You  know  I've  been  helping  down  at 
your  aunt's, — did  you  ?" 

"  No." 

**  Well  I  have, — these  six  weeks.  You  never  see  anything 
go  on  quieter  than  they  do,  Ellen.  I  declare  it's  fun.  Miss 
Fortune  never  was  so  good  in  her  days.  I  don't  mean  she 
aint  as  ugly  as  ever,  you  know,  but  she  has  to  keep  it  in.  All 
I  have  to  do  if  I  think  anything  is  going  wrong,  I  just  let  her 
think  I  am  going  to  speak  to  him  about  it ; — only  I  have  to 
do  it  very  cunning  for  fear  she  would  guess  what  I  am  up  to  ; 
and  the  next  thinof  I  know  it's  all  straii^ht.  He  is  about  the 
coolest  shaver,"  said  Nancy,  I  ever  did  see.  The  way  he 
walks  through  her  notions  once  in  a  while — not  very  often, 
mind  you,  but  when  he  takes  a  fancy, — it's  fun  to  see  !  0  1 
can  get  along  there  first-rate  now.  You'd  have  a  royal  time, 
Ellen." 

"  Well,  Nancy — your  story  ?" 
Don't  you  be  in  a  hurry  !  I  am  going  to  take  my  time. 
Well  I've  been  there  this  six  weeks  ;  doing  all  sorts  of  things, 
you  know  ;  taking  your  place,  Ellen  ;  don't  you  wish  you  was 
back  in  it  ? — Well  a  couple  of  weeks  since,  Mrs.  Van  took  it 
into  her  head  she  would  have  up  the  wagon  and  go  to  Thirl- 
wall  to  get  herself  some  things ;  a  queer  start  for  her  ;  but  at 
any  rate  Van  Brunt  brought  up  the  wagon  and  in  she  got  and 
off  they  went.  Now  she  meant,  you  must  know,  that  I  should 
be  fast  in  the  cellar-kitchen  all  the  while  she  was  gone,  and 
she  thought  she  had  given  me  enough  to  keep  me  busy  there  ; 
but  [  was  up  to  her !  I  was  as  spry  as  a  cricket,  and  flew 
round,  and  got  things  put  up  ;  and  then  I  thought  I'd  have 
some  fun.  What  d-o  you  think  I  did  ? — Mrs.  Montgomery 
was  quietly  sitting  in  the  chimney-corner  and  I  had  the 
whole  house  to  myself.  How  Van  Brunt  looks  out  for  her, 
Ellen  ;  he  won't  let  her  be  put  out  for  anything  or  anybody." 

"  1  am  glad  of  it,"  said  Ellen,  her  face  flushing  and  her  eyes 
watering ;  "  it  is  just  like  him.    I  love  him  for  it." 

"  The  other  night  she  was  mourning  and  lamenting  at  a 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


231 


great  rate  because  she  hadn't  you  to  read  to  her  ;  and  what 
do  you  think  he  does  but  goes  and  takes  the  book  and  sits 
down  and  reads  to  her  himself.  You  should  have  seen  Mrs. 
Van's  face  !" 

"  What  book     said  Ellen. 

"  What  book  ?  why  your  book, — the  Bible, — there  aint  any 
other  book  in  the  house,  as  I  know.  What  on  earth  are  you 
crying  for,  Ellen  ? — He's  fetched  over  his  mother's  old  Bible, 
and  there  it  lays  on  a  shelf  in  the  cupboard  ;  and  he  has  it 
out  every  once  in  a  while.  Maybe  he's  coming  round,  Ellen. 
But  do  hold  up  your  head  and  listen  to  me  !  I  can't  talk  to 
you  when  you  lie  with  your  head  in' the  cushion  hke  that.  I 
iia'n't  more  than  begun  my  story  yet." 

"  Well,  go  on,"  said  Ellen. 

"  You  see,  I  aint  in  any  hurry,"  said  Nancy, — "because  as 
soon  as  I've  finished  I  shall  have  to  be  off ;  and  it's  fun  to 
talk  to  you.  What  do  you  think  I  did,  when  I  had  done  up 
all  my  chores  ? — where  do  you  think  I  found  this,  eh  ?  youd 
never  guess." 

"  What  is  it?"  said  Ellen 

"No  matter  what  it  is;— I  don't  know; — where  do  you 
think  I  found  it  ?" 

"  How  can  I  tell?    I  don't  know." 

"  You'll  be  angry  with  me  when  I  tell  you." 

Ellen  was  silent. 

"  If  it  was  anybody  else,"  said  Nancy, — "  I'd  ha'  seen  'em 
shot  afore  I'd  ha'  done  it,  or  told  of  it  either ;  but  you  aint 
like  anybody  else.  Look  here  !"  said  she,  tapping  her  apron 
gently  with  one  finger  and  slowly  marking  oif  each  word, — 
"  this — came  out  of — your — aunt's — box — in — the  closet — 
up  stairs — in — her  room," 

"  Nancy  !" 

"Ay,  Nancy  !  there  it  is.    Now  you  look !    'Twont  alter 
it,  Ellen ;  that's  where  it  was,  if  you  look  till  tea-time." 
"  But  how  came  you  there  ?" 

"  'Cause  I  wanted  to  amuse  myself,  I  tell  you.  Partly  to 
plevse  myself,  and  partly  because  Mrs.  Van  w^ould  be  so 
mad  if  she  knew  it." 

"  0  Nancy !" 

"  Well — I  don't  say  it  was  right, — but  anyhow  I  did  it ! 
you  ha'n't  heard  what  I  found  yet." 


232 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


"  You  had  better  put  right  it  back  again,  Nancy,  the  first 
time  you  have  a  chance." 

"  Put  it  back  again  ! — I'll  give  it  to  you,  and  then  ijou  may 
put  it  back  again,  if  you  have  a  mind.  I  should  like  to  see 
you  !    Why  you  don't  know  what  I  found." 

*•  Well  what  did  you  find  ?" 

"  The  box  was  chuck  full  of  all  sorts  of  things,  and  I  had 
a  mind  to  see  what  was  in  it,  so  I  pulled  'em  out  one  after 
the  other  till  I  got  to  the  bottom.  At  the  very  bottom  was 
some  letters  and  papers,  and  there, — staring  right  in  my 
face, — the  first  thing  I  see  was,  '  Miss  Ellen  Montgomery.'  " 
O  Nancy  !"  screamed  Ellen, — "  a  letter  for  me  ?" 

"  Hush  I — and  sit  down,  will  you  ? — yes,  a  whole  package 
of  letters  for  you.  Well,  thought  I,  Mrs.  Van  has  no  right 
to  that  anyhow,  and  she  aint  a  going  to  take  the  care  of  it 
any  more  ;  so  I  just  took  it  up  and  put  it  in  the  bosom  of  my 
frock  while  I  looked  to  see  if  there  was  any  more  for  you, 
but  there  warn't.    There  it  is  ! — 

And  she  tossed  the  package  into  Ellen's  lap.  Ellen's  head 
swam. 

"Well,  good-bye  !"  said  Nancy  rising; — "I  may  go  now 
I  suppose,  and  no  thanks  to  me." 

"  Yes  I  do — I  do  thank  you  very  much,  Nancy,"  cried 
Ellen,  starting  up  and  taking  her  by  the  hand, — "  1  do  thank 
you, — though  it  wasn't  right ; — but  0  how  could  she  !  how 
could  she  !" 

"  Dear  me  !"  said  Nancy  ;  "  to  a^k  that  of  Mrs.  Van ! 
she  could  do  anything.     Why  she  did  it,  aint  so  easy  to  tell." 

Ellen,  bewildered,  scarcely  knew,  ovlXj  felt,  that  Nancy  had 
gone.  The  outer  cover  of  her  package,  the  seal  of  which  was 
broken,  contained  three  letters ;  two  addressed  to  Ellen,  in 
her  father's  hand,  the  third  to  another  person.  The  seals  of 
these  had  not  been  broken.  The  first  that  Ellen  opened  she 
saw  was  all  in  the  same  hand  with  the  direction  ;  she  threw  it 
down  and  eagerly  tried  the  other.  And  yes  !  there  was 
indeed  the  beloved  character  of  which  she  never  thought  to 
have  seen  another  specimen.  Ellen's  heart  swelled  with 
many  feelings  ;  thankfulness,  tenderness,  joy,  and  sorrow,  past 
and  present ; — that  letter  was  not  thrown  down,  but  grasped, 
while  tears  fell  much  too  fast  for  eyes  to  do  their  work.  It 
was  long  before  she  could  get  far  in  the  letter.    But  when 


THE  WIDE,  WIDi:  WORLD. 


263 


she  had  fairly  begun  it  she  went  on  swiftly,  and  almost 
breathlessly,  to  the  end. 

"My  dear,  dear  little  Ellen, 

"I  am  scarcely  able — but  I  must  write  to  you  once  more. 
Once  more,  daughter,  for  it  is  not  permitted  me  to  see  your 
face  again  in  this  world.  I  look  to  see  it,  my  dear  child, 
where  it  will  be  fairer  than  ever  here  it  seemed,  even  to  me. 
I  shall  die  in  this  hope  and  expectation.  Ellen,  remember  it. 
Your  last  letters  have  greatly  encouraged  and  rejoiced  me. 
I  am  comforted,  and  can  leave  you  quietly  in  that  hand  that 
has  led  me  and  I  believe  is  leading  you.  God  bless  you,  my 
child ! 

"  Ellen,  I  have  a  mother  living,  and  she  wishes  to  receive 
you  as  her  own  when  I  am  gone.  It  is  best  you  should 
know  at  once  why  I  never  spoke  to  you  of  her.  After  your 
aunt  Bessy  married  and  went  to  New-York,  it  displeased  and 
grieved  my  mother  greatly  that  I  too,  who  had  always  been 
her  favorite  child,  should  leave  her  for  an  American  home. 
And  when  I  persisted,  in  spite  of  all  that  entreaties  and 
authority  could  urge,  she  said  she  forgave  me  for  destroying 
all  her  prospects  of  happiness,  but  that  after  I  should  be 
married  and  gone  she  should  consider  me  as  lost  to  her  en- 
tirely, and  so  I  must  consider  myself.  She  never  wrote  to 
me,  and  I  never  wrote  to  her  after  I  reached  America.  She 
was  dead  to  me.    I  do  not  say  that  I  did  not  deserve  it. 

"  But  I  have  written  to  her  lately  and  she  has  written  to 
me.  She  permits  me  to  die  in  the  joy  of  being  entirely  for- 
given, and  in  the  further  joy  of  knowing  that  the  only  source 
of  care  I  had  left  is  done  away.  She  will  take  you  to  her 
heart,  to  the  place  I  once  filled,  and  I  believe  fill  yet.  She 
longs  to  have  you,  and  to  have  you  as  entirely  her  own,  in  all 
respects  ;  and  to  this,  in  consideration  of  the  wandering  life 
your  father  leads,  and  will  lead, — I  am  willing  and  he  is  will- 
ing to  agree.  It  is  arranged  so.  The  old  happy  home  of 
my  childhood  will  be  yours,  my  Ellen.  It  joys  me  to  think 
of  it.  Your  father  will  write  to  your  aunt  and  to  you  on  the 
subject,  and  furnish  you  with  funds.  It  is  our  desire  that 
you  should  take  advantage  of  the  very  first  opportunity  of 
proper  persons  going  to  Scotland  who  will  be  willing  to  take 


234 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


charge  of  you.  Your  dear  friends,  Mr.  and  Miss  Humphreys, 
will  1  dare  say  help  you  in  this. 

"  To  them  I  could  say  much,  if  I  had  strength.  But 
words  are  little.  If  blessings  and  prayers  from  a  full  heart 
are  worth  anything,  they  are  the  richer.  My  love  and  grati- 
tude to  them  cannot  " 

The  writer  had  failed  here ;  and  what  there  was  of  the 
letter  had  evidently  been  written  at  difierent  times.  Captain 
Montgomery's  was  to  the  same  purpose.  He  directed  Ellen 
to  embrace  the  first  opportunity  of  suitable  guardians,  to  cross 
the  Atlantic  and  repair  to  No  —  George's  street,  Edinburgh  ; 
said  that  Miss  Fortune  would  give  her  the  money  she  would 
need,  which  he  had  written  to  her  to  do,  and  that  the  accom- 
panying letter  Ellen  was  to  carry  with  her  and  dehver  to 
Mrs.  Lindsay,  her  grand  mother. 

Ellen  felt  as  if  her  head  would  split.  She  took  up  that  letter, 
gazed  at  the  strange  name  and  direction  which  had  taken 
such  new  and  startling  interest  for  her,  wondered  over  the 
thought  of  what  she  was  ordered  to  do  with  it,  marveled  what 
sort  of  fingers  they  were  which  would  open  it,  or  whether  it 
would  ever  be  opened  ; — and  finally,  in  a  perfect  maze,  un- 
able to  read,  think,  or  even  weep,  she  carried  her  package  of 
letters  into  her  own  room,  the  room  that  had  been  Alice's, 
laid  herself  on  the  bed,  and  them  beside  her ;  and  fell  into  a 
deep  sleep. 

She  woke  up  towards  evening  with  the  pressure  of  a 
mountain  weight  upon  her  mind.  Her  thoughts  and  feelings 
were  a  maze  still ;  and  not  Mr.  Humphreys  himself  could  be 
more  grave  and  abstracted  than  poor  Ellen  was  that  night. 
So  many  points  were  to  be  settled, — so  many  questions  an- 
sw^ered  to  herself, — it  was  a  good  while  before  Ellen  could 
disentangle  them,  and  know  what  she  did  think  and  feel,  and 
what  she  would  do. 

She  very  soon  found  out  her  own  mind  upon  one  subject, — 
she  would  be  exceeding  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  obey  the 
directions  in  the  letters.    But  must  she  obey  them  ? 

"  I  have  proniised  Ahce,"  thought  Ellen  ; — "  I  have  pro- 
mised Mr.  Humphreys — I  can't  be  adopted  twice.  And  this 
Mrs.  Lindsay, — my  grandmother  ! — she  cannot  be  nice  or  she 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


285 


wouldn't  have  treated  my  mother  so.  She  cannot  be  a  nice 
person  ; — hard, — she  must  be  hard  ; — I  never  want  to  see 
her.  My  mother  ! — But  then  my  mother  loved  her,  and  was 
very  glad  to  have  me  go  to  her.  Oh  ! — oh  !  how  could  she  ! 
— how  could  they  do  so ! — when  they  didn't  know  how  it 
might  be  with  me,  and  what  dear  friends  they  might  make 
me  leave  !  Oh  it  was  cruel ! — But  then  they  did  not  know, 
that  is  the  very  thing — they  thought  I  would  have  nobody 
but  aunt  Fortune,  and  so  it's  no  wonder — 0  what  shall  I  do  ! 
What  ought  I  to  do  ?  These  people  in  Scotland  must  have 
given  me  up  by  this  time  ;  it's — let  me  see — it's  just  about 
three  years  now, — a  little  less, — since  these  letters  were 
written.  I  am  older  now,  and  circumstances  are  changed  ; 
I  have  a  home  and  a  father  and  a  brother  ;  may  I  not  judge 
for  myself  ? — But  my  mother  and  my  father  have  ordered 
me, — what  shall  I  do  ! — If  John  were  only  here — but  per- 
haps he  would  make  me  go, — he  might  think  it  right.  And 
to  leave  him, — and  maybe  never  see  him  again  ! — and  Mr. 
Humphreys  !  and  how  lonely  he  would  be  without  me, — I 
cannot !  I  will  not !  Oh  what  shall  I  do  !  What  shall  I 
do  !" 

Ellen's  meditations  gradually  plunged  her  in  despair  ;  for 
she  could  not  look  at  the  event  of  being  obliged  to  go,  and 
she  could  not  get  rid  of  the  feeling  that  perhaps  it  might 
come  to  that.  She  wept  bitterly ;  it  didn't  mend  the  matter. 
She  thought  painfully,  fearfully,  long  ;  and  was  no  nearer  an 
end.  She  could  not  endure  to  submit  the  matter  to  Mr.  Hum- 
phreys ;  she  feared  his  decision  ;  and  she  feared  also  that  he 
would  give  her  the  money  Miss  Fortune  had  failed  to  supply 
for  the  journey  ;  how  much  it  might  be  Ellen  had  no  idea.  She 
could  not  dismiss  the  subject  as  decided  by  circumstances, 
for  conscience  pricked  her  with  the  fifth  commandment.  She 
was  miserable.  It  happily  occurred  to  her  at  last  to  take 
counsel  with  Mrs.  Vawse  ;  this  might  be  done  she  knew 
without  betraying  Nancy ;  Mrs.  Vawse  was  much  too  honor- 
able to  press  her  as  to  how  she  came  by  the  letters,  and  her 
word  could  easily  be  obtained  not  to  speak  of  the  tvfFairs  to 
any  one.  As  for  Miss  Fortune's  conduct,  it  must  be  made 
known  ;  there  was  no  help  for  that.  So  it  was  settled  ;  and 
Ellen's  breast  was  a  little  lightened  of  its  load  of  care  for  that 
time ;  she  had  leisure  to  think  of  some  other  things. 


236 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


Why  had  Miss  Fortune  kept  back  the  letters  ?  EUen 
guessed  pretty  well,  but  she  did  not  know  quite  all.  The  pack- 
age, with  its  accompanying  dispatch  to  Miss  Fortune,  had  ar- 
rived shortly  after  Ellen  first  heard  the  news  of  her  mother's 
death,  when  she  was  refuged  with  Alice  at  the  parsonage.  At 
the  time  of  its  being  sent  Captain  Montgomery's  movements 
were  extremely  uncertain  ;  and  in  obedience  to  the  earnest  re- 
quest of  his  wife  he  dii  ected  that  without  waiting  for  his  own 
return  Ellen  should  immediately  set  out  for  Scotland.  Part  of 
■  the  money  for  her  expenses  he  sent ;  the  rest  he  desired  his 
sister  to  furnish,  promising  to  make  all  straight  when  he  should 
come  home.  But  it  happened  that  he  was  already  this  lady's 
debtor  in  a  small  amount,  which  Miss  Fortune  had  serious 
doubts  of  ever  being  repaid ;  she  instantly  determined,  that 
if  she  had  once  been  a  fool  in  lending  him  money,  she  would 
not  a  second  time  in  adding  to  the  sum  ;  if  he  wanted  to 
send  his  daughter  on  a  wild-goose-chase  after  great  relations, 
he  might  come  home  himself  and  see  to  it ;  it  was  none  of 
her  business.  Quietly  taking  the  remittance  to  refund  his 
own  owing,  she  of  course  threw  the  letters  into  her  box,  as 
the  delivery  of  them  would  expose  the  whole  transaction. 
There  they  lay  till  Nancy  found  them. 

Early  next  morning  after  breakfast  Ellen  came  into  the 
kitchen,  and  begged  Margery  to  ask  Thomas  to  bring  the 
Brownie  to  the  door.  Surprised  at  the  energy  in  her  tone 
and  manner,  Margery  gave  the  message  and  added  that  Miss 
Ellen  seemed  to  have  picked  up  wonderfully ;  she  hadn't 
heard  her  speak  so  brisk  since  Mr.  John  went  away. 

The  Brownie  was  soon  at  the  door,  but  not  so  soon  as 
Ellen,  who  had  dressed  in  feverish  haste.  The  Brownie  was 
not  alone  ;  there  was  old  John  saddled  and  bridled,  and  Thomas 
Grimes  in  waiting. 

"  It's  not  necessary  for  you  to  take  that  trouble,  Thomas," 
said  Ellen  ; — "  I  don't  mind  going  alone  at  all." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  Miss  Ellen, — (Thomas  touched  his 
hat) — but  Mr.  John  left  particular  orders  that  I  was  to  go 
with  Miss  Ellen  whenever  it  pleased  her  to  ride  ;  never  failing." 

"  Did  he  !"  said  Ellen ; — "  but  is  it  convenient  for  you  now 
Thomas  ?    I  want  to  go  as  far  as  Mrs.  Vawse's." 

"  It's  always  convenient,  Miss  Ellen, — always  ;  Miss  Ellen 
need  not  think  of  that  at  all,  1  am  always  ready." 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


237 


Ellen  mounted  upon  the  Brownie,  sighing  for  the  want  of 
the  hand  that  used  to  lift  her  to  the  saddle  ;  and  spurred  by 
this  recollection  set  off  at  a  round  pace. 

Soon  she  was  at  Mrs.  Vawse's  ;  and  soon,  finding  her  alone, 
Ellen  had  spread  out  all  her  difficulties  before  her  and  given 
her  the  letters  to  read.  Mrs.  Yawse  readily  promised  to  speak 
on  the  subject  to  no  one  without  Ellen's  leave  ;  her  suspi- 
cions fell  upon  Mr.  Van  Brunt,  not  her  granddaughter.  She 
heard  all  the  story,  and  read  the  letters  before  making  any 
remark. 

"  Now,  dear  Mrs.  Vawse,''  said  Ellen  anxiously,  when  the 
last  one  was  folded  up  and  laid  on  the  table, — "  what  do  you 
think  ?  " 

"  I  thmk,  my  child,  you  must  go,"  said  the  old  lady 
s-teadily. 

Ellen  looked  keenly,  as  if  to  find  some  other  answer  in  her 
face ;  her  own  changing  more  and  more  for  a  minute,  till  she 
sunk  it  in  her  hands. 

"  Cela  vous  donne  beaucoup  de  chagrin, — je  le  vols  bien," 
said  the  old  lady  tenderly.  (Their  conversations  were  always 
in  Mrs.  Vawse's  tongue.) 

"  But,"  said  Ellen  presently,  lifting  her  head  again,  (there 
were  no  tears) — "  I  cannot  go  without  money." 

"  That  can  be  obtained  without  any  difficulty." 

"  From  whom  ?  I  cannot  ask  aunt  Fortune  for  it,  Mrs. 
Vawse  ;  I  could  not  do  it !" 

"  There  is  no  difficulty  about  the  money.  Show  your  let- 
ters to  Mr.  Humphrey sj' 

"01  cannot !"  said  Ellen,  covering  her  face  again. 

*•  WiH  you  let  me  do  it  ?  I  will  speak  to  him  if  you  per- 
mit me." 

**  But  what  use  ?  He  ought  not  to  give  me  the  money,  Mrs. 
Vawse  ?  It  would  not  be  right ;  and  to  show  him  the  let- 
ters would  be  like  asking  him  for  it.  0  I  can't  bear  to  do 
that !" 

"  He  would  give  it  you,  Ellen,  with  the  greatest  plea- 
sure." 

*'  Oh  no,  Mrs.  Vawse,"  said  Ellen,  bursting  into  tears, — 
*'  he  would  never  be  pleased  to  send  me  away  from  him  !  I 
know — I  know — he  would  miss  me.    O  what  shall  1  do  !" 
"Not  that,  my  dear  Ellen,"  said  the  old  lady,  coming  to 


238 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


ber  and  gently  stroking  her  head  with  both  hands.  "  You 
must  do  what  is  right ;  and  you  know  it  cannot  be  but  that 
will  be  the  best  and  happiest  for  you  in  the  end." 

"01  wish — I  wish,"  exclaimed  Ellen  from  the  bottom  of 
her  heart, — "  those  letters  had  never  been  found  !" 

"  Nay,  Ellen,  thai  is  not  right." 

"  But  I  promised  Alice,  Mrs.  Vawse  ;  ought  I  go  away 
and  leave  him  ?   0,  Mrs.  Vawse,  it  is  very  hard  !    Ought  I  ?" 

"  Your  father  and  your  mother  have  said  it,  my  child." 

"  But  they  never  would  have  said  it  if  they  had  known  ?" 

**  But  they  did  not  know,  Ellen  ;  and  here  it  is." 

Ellen  wept  violently,  regardless  of  the  caresses  and  sooth- 
ing words  which  her  old  friend  lavished  upon  her. 

"  There  is  one  thing  !"  said  she  at  last,  raising  her  head, — 
"  I  don't  know  of  anybody  going  to  Scotland,  and  I  am  not 
likely  to ;  and  if  I  only  do  not  before  autumn, — that  is  not  a 
good  time  to  go,  and  then  comes  winter." 

'*  My  dear  Ellen !"  said  Mrs.  Vawse  sorrowfully,  "  I  must 
drive  you  from  your  last  hope.  Don't  you  knoAV  that  Mrs. 
Gillespie  is  going  abroad  with  all  her  family  ?  — next  month  I 
think." 

Ellen  grew  pale  for  a  minute,  and  sat  holding  bitter  coun- 
sel with  her  own  heart.  Mrs.  Vawse  hardly  knew  what  to 
say  next. 

"  You  need  not  feel  uneasy  about  your  journeying  ex- 
penses," she  remarked  after  a  pause  ; — "  you  can  easily  repay 
them,  if  you  wish,  when  you  reach  your  friends  in  Scotland,'* 

Ellen  did  not  hear  her.  She  looked  up  with  an  odd  ex- 
pression of  determination  in  her  face,  determination  taking 
its  stand  upon  difficulties. 

"  I  sha'n't  stay  there,  Mrs.  Vawse,  if  I  go  ! — I  shall  go,  I 
suppose,  if  I  must ;  but  do  you  think  anything  will  keep  me 
there  ?    Never !" 

"  You  will  stay  for  the  same  reason  that  you  go  for,  Ellen  ; 
to  do  your  duty." 

"  Yes,  till  I  am  old  enough  to  choose  for  myself,  Mrs. 
Vawse,  and  then  I  shall  come  back  ;  if  they  will  let  me." 
Whom  do  you  mean  by  *  they  ?'  " 

"  Mr.  Humphreys  and  Mr.  John." 

"  My  dear  Ellen,"  said  the  old  lady  kindly,  "  be  satisfied 
with  doing  your  duty  now  ;  leave  the  future.    While  you  foi- 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


239 


low  him,  God  will  be  your  friend  ;  is  not  that  enough  ?  and 
all  things  sliall  work  for  your  good.  You  do  not  know  what 
you  will  wish  when  the  time  comes  you  speak  of.  You  do 
not  know  what  new  friends  you  may  find  to  love." 

Ellen  had  in  her  own  heart  the  warrant  for  what  she  had 
said  and  what  she  saw  by  her  smile  Mrs,  Vawse  doubted  ; 
but  she  disdained  to  assert  what  §]ie  could  bring  nothing  to 
prove.  She  took  a  sorrowful  leave  of  her  old  friend  and  re- 
turned home. 

After  dinner,  when  Mr.  Humphreys  was  about  goiiig  back 
to  his  study,  Ellen  timidly  stopped  him  and  gave  him  her 
letters,  and  asked  him  to  look  at  them  some  time  when  he  had 
leisure.  She  told  him  also  where  they  were  found  and  how 
long  they  had  lain  there,  and  that  Mrs.  Vawse  had  said  she 
ought  to  show  them  to  him." 

She  guessed  he  would  read  them  at  once, — and  she  waited 
with  a  beating  heart.  In  a  little  while  she  heard  his  step 
coming  back  along  the  hall,  fie  came  and  sat  down  by  her 
on  the  sofa  and  took  her  hand. 

"  What  is  your  Avish  in  this  matter,  my  child?"  he  said 
gravely  and  cheerfully. 

Ellen's  look  answered  that. 

"  I  will  do  whatever  you  say  I  must,  sir,"  she  said  faintly. 

"  I  dare  not  ask  myself  what  /  would  wish,  Ellen  ;  the 
matter  is  taken  out  of  our  hands.  Y^ou  must  do  your  parents' 
will,  my  child.  I  will  try  to  hope  that  you  will  gain  more 
than  I  lose.  As  the  Lord  pleases  !  If  1  am  bereaved  of  my 
children,  I  am  bereaved." 

"  Mrs.  Gillespie,"  he  said  after  a  pause,  "  is  about  going 
to  England  ; — I  know  not  how  soon.  It  will  be  best  for  you 
to  see  her  at  once  and  make  all  arrangements  that  may  be 
necessary.  I  will  go  with  you  to-morrow  to  Ventnor,  if  the 
day  be  a  good  one." 

There  was  something  Ellen  longed  to  say,  but  it  was  im- 
possible to  get  it  out  ;  she  could  not  utter  a  word.  She  had 
pressed  her  hands  upon  her  face  to  try  to  keep  herself  quiet ; 
but  Mr.  Humphreys  could  see  the  deep  crimson  flushing  to 
the  very  roots  of  her  hair.  He  drew  her  close  w^ithin  his 
arms  for  a  moment,  kissed  her  forehead,  Ellen  felt  it  was 
sadly,  and  went  away.  It  was  well  she  did  not  hear  him 
sigh  as  he  went  back  along  the  hall ;  it  was  well  she  did  not 


240 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD- 


see  the  face  of  more  settled  gravity  with  which  he  sat  down 
to  his  writinor ;  she  had  enough  of  her  own. 

They  went  to  Ventnor.  Mrs.  Gillespie  with  great  pleasure 
undertook  the  charge  of  her  and  promised  to  deliver  her 
safely  to  her  friends  in  Scotland.  It  was  arranged  that  she 
should  go  back  to  Thirlwall  to  make  her  adieus ;  and  that  in 
a  week  or  two  a  carriao-e  should  be  sent  to  brino"  her  to  Vent- 
nor,  where  her  preparations  for  the  journey  should  be  made, 
and  whence  the  whole  party  would  set  oflF." 

"  So  you  are  going  to  be  a  Scotchwoman  after  all,  Ellen," 
said  Miss  Sophia. 

*'  I  had  a  great  deal  rather  be  an  American,  Miss  Sophia." 
Why  Hutchinson  will  tell  you,"  said  the  young  lady, 
**  that  it  is  infinitely  more  desirable  to  be  a  Scotchwoman  than 
that." 

Ellen's  face,  however,  looked  so  little  inclined  to  be  merry 
that  she  took  up  the  subject  in  another  tone. 

"  Seriously,  do  you  know,"  said  she,  "  I  have  been  think- 
ing it  is  a  very  happy  thing  for  you.  I  don't  know  what 
would  become  of  you  alone  in  that  great  parsonage  house. 
You  would  mope  yourself  to  death  in  a  little  while ;  especially 
now  that  Mr.  John  is  gone." 

''He  will  be  back,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Yes  but  what  if  he  is  ?  he  can't  stay  at  Thirlwall,  child. 
He  can't  live  thirty  miles  from  his  church  you  know.  Did 
you  think  he  would  ?  They  think  all  the  world  of  him 
already.  I  expect  they'll  barely  put  up  with  Mr.  George 
while  he  is  gone  ; — they  will  want  Mr.  John  all  to  themselves 
when  he  comes  back,  you  may  rely  on  that.  What  are  you 
thinking  of,  child  ?" 

For  Ellen's  eyes  were  sparkling  with  two  or  three  tboughts 
which  Miss  Sophia  could  not  read. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  what  you  are  smiling  at,"  she  said 
with  some  curiosity.  But  the  smile  was  almost  immediately 
quenched  in  tears. 

Notwithstanding  Miss  Sophia's  discouraging  talk,  Ellen  pri- 
vatel}'-  agreed  with  Ellen  Chauncey  that  the  Brownie  should 
be  sent  to  her  to  keep  and  use  as  her  own,  till  his  mistress 
should  come  hack  ;  both  children  being  entirely  of  opinion 
that  the  arrangement  was  a  most  unexceptionable  one. 

It  was  not  forgotten  that  the  lapse  of  three  years  since  the 


THE   WIDE,  "WIDE  WORLD. 


241 


date  of  the  letters  left  some  uncertainty  as  to  the  present 
state  of  affairs  among  Ellen's  friends  in  Scotland  ;  but  this 
doubt  was  not  thought  sufficient  to  justify  her  letting  pass  so 
excellent  an  opportunity  of  making  the  journey.  Especially 
as  Captain  Montgomery's  letter  spoke  of  an  uncle,  to  whom 
equally  with  her  grandmother,  Ellen  was  to  be  consigned. 
In  case  circumstances  would  permit  it,  Mrs.  Gillespie  engaged 
to  keep  Ellen  with  her,  and  bring  her  home  to  America  when 
she  herself  should  return. 

And  in  little  more  than  a  month  they  were  gone ;  adieus 
and  preparations  and  all  were  over,  Ellen's  parting  with 
Mrs.  Vawse  was  very  tender  and  very  sad  ; — with  Mr.  Van 
Brunt,  extremely  and  gratefully  aff"ectionate,  on  both  sides  ; — 
with  her  aunt,  constrained  and  brief; — with  Margery  very 
sorrowful  indeed.  But  Ellen's  longest  and  most  lingering 
adieu  was  to  Captain  Parry,  the  old  grey  cat.  For  one 
whole  evening  she  sat  with  him  in  her  arms ;  and  over  poor 
pussy  were  shed  the  tears  that  fell  for  many  better  loved 
and  better  deserving  personages,  as  well  as  those  not  a  few 
that  were  wept  for  him.  Since  Alice's  death  Parry  had 
transferred  his  entire  confidence  and  esteem  to  Ellen ;  wheth- 
er from  feeling  a  want,  or  because  love  and  tenderness  had 
taught  her  the  touch  and  the  tone  that  were  fitted  to  win 
his  regard.  Only  John  shared  it.  Ellen  was  his  chief 
favorite  and  almost  constant  companion.  And  bitterer  tears 
Ellen  shed  at  no  time  than  that  evening  before  she  went 
away,  over  the  old  cat.  She  could  not  distress  kitty  with 
her  distress,  nor  weary  him  with  the  calls  upon  his  sympa- 
thy, though  indeed  it  is  true  that  he  sundry  times  poked  his 
nose  up  wonderingly  and  caressingly  in  her  face.  She  had 
no  remonstrance  or  interruption  to  fear ;  and  taking  pussy  as 
the  emblem  and  representative  of  the  whole  household,  Ellen 
wept  them  all  over  him  ;  with  a  tenderness  and  a  bitterness 
that  were  somehow  intensified  by  the  sight  of  the  grey  coat, 
and  white  paws,  and  kindly  face,  of  her  unconscious  old 
brute  friend. 

The  old  people  at  Carra-carra  were  taken  leave  of ;  the 
Brownie  too,  with  great  difficulty.    And  Nancy. 

"  I'm  real  sorry  you  are  going,  Ellen,"  said  she  ; — ''you're 
the  only  soul  in  town  I  care  about.  I  wish  I'd  thrown 
them  letters  in  the  fire  after  all !    Who'd  ha'  thought  it !" 

VOL.   II.  11 


242 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


Ellen  could  not  help  in  her  heart  echoing  the  wish. 

"  I'm  real  sorry,  Ellen,  she  repeated.  Aint  there  some- 
thing I  can  do  for  you  when  you  are  gone  ?" 

"  0  yes,  dear  Nancy,"  said  Ellen,  weeping, — "  if  you 
•Vfould  only  take  care  of  your  dear  grandmother.  She  is 
left  alone  now.  If  you  would  only  take  care  of  her,  and 
read  your  Bible,  and  be  good,  Nancy, — Oh  Nancy,  Nancy ! 
do,  do ! 

They  kissed  each  other,  and  Nancy  went  away  fairly 
crying. 

Mrs.  Marshman's  own  woman,  a  steady  excellent  person, 
had  come  in  the  carriage  for  Ellen.  And  the  next  morn- 
ing early  after  breakfast,  when  everything  else  was  ready, 
she  went  into  Mr.  Humphreys'  study  to  bid  the  last  dreaded 
good-bye.  She  thought  her  obedience  was  costing  her 
dear. 

It  was  nearly  a  silent  parting.  He  held  her  a  long  time 
in  his  arms  ;  and  there  Ellen  bitterly  thought  her  place 
ought  to  be.  What  have  I  to  do  to  st-ek  new  relations  ?" 
she  said  to  herself.  But  she  Avas  speechless  ;  till  gently  re- 
laxing his  hold  he  tenderly  smoothed  back  her  disordered 
hair,  and  kissing  her,  said  a  very  few  grave  words  of  blessing 
and  counsel.  Ellen  gathered  all  her  strength  together  then, 
for  she  had  something  that  must  be  spoken. 

"  Sir,"  said  she,  falling  on  her  knees  before  him  and  look- 
ing up  in  his  face, — "  this  don't  alter — you  do  not  take  back 
what  you  said,  do  you?" 

"What    that  1  said,  my  child  ?" 

•*  That,"  said  Ellen,  hiding  her  face  in  her  hands  on  his 
knee,  and  scarce  able  to  speak  with  great  effort, — "  that 
which  you  said  when  I  first  came — that  which  you  said — 
about " — 

"  About  what,  my  dear  child  ?" 
My  going  away  don't  change  anything,  does  it  sir  ? 
Mayn't  1  come  back,  if  ever  I  can  ?" 

He  raised  her  up  and  drew  her  close  to  his  bosom 
again. 

"  My  dear  little  daughter,"  said  he,  "  you  cannot  be  so 
glad  to  come  back  as  my  arms  and  my  heart  will  be  to  re- 
ceive you.  I  scarce  dare  hope  to  see  that  day,  but  all  in 
this  house  is  yours,  dear  Ellen,  as  well  when  in  Scotland  as 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


243 


here.  I  take  back  nothing,  my  daughter.  Nothing  is 
changed," 

A  word  or  two  more  of  affection  and  blessing,  which 
Ellen  was  utterly  unable  to  answer  in  any  way, — and  she 
went  to  the  carriage  ;  with  one  drop  of  cordial  in  her  heart, 
that  she  fed  upon  a  long  while.  "  He  called  me  his  daugh- 
ter ! — he  never  said  that  before  since  Alice  died  !  0  so  I 
will  be  as  long  as  I  live,  if  I  find  fifty  new  relations.  But 
what  good  will  a  daughter  three  thousand  miles  off  do 
him !" 


CHAPTER  XLVII 


Speed.    lt€n .    She  is  proud. 

Laun.    Out  with  that  ; — it  was  Eve's  legacy,  ^nd  cannot  be  ta'en  from  her. 

Shakspkarb. 

The  voyage  was  peaceful  and  prosperous ;  in  due  time  the 
whole  party  found  tliemselves  safe  in  London.  Ever  since 
they  set  out  Ellen  had  been  constantly  gaining  on  Mrs.  Gil- 
lespie's good  will ;  the  Major  hardly  saw  her  but  she  had 
something  to  say  about  that  "  best-bred  child  in  the  world." 
"  Best  hearted  too,  I  think,"  said  the  Major  ;  and  even  Mrs. 
Gillespie  owned  that  there  was  something  more  than  good- 
breeding  in  Ellen's  politeness.  She  had  good  trial  of  it ; 
Mrs.  Gillespie  was  much  longer  ailing  than  any  of  the  party  ; 
and  when  Ellen  got  well,  it  was  her  great  pleasure  to  devote 
herself  to  the  service  of  the  only  member  of  the  Marshman 
family  now  within  her  reach.  She  could  never  do  too  much. 
She  watched  by  her,  read  to  her,  was  quick  to  see  and  per- 
form all  the  little  offices  of  attention  and  kindness  where  a 
servant's  hand  is  not  so  acceptable ;  and  withal  never  was  in 
the  way  nor  put  hei-self  forward.  Mrs.  Gillespie's  own  daugh- 
ter was  much  less  helpful.  Both  she  and  WiUiam,  however, 
had  long  since  forgotten  the  old  grudge,  and  treated  Ellen  as 
well  as  they  did  anybody ;  rather  better.  Major  Gillespie 
was  attentive  and  kind  as  possible  to  the  gentle,  well-behaved 
little  body  that  was  always  at  his  wife's  pillow ;  and  even 
Lester,  the  maid,  told  one  of  her  friends  "  she  was  such  a 
sweet  little  lady  that  it  was  a  pleasure  and  gratification  to 
do  anything  for  her."  Lester  acted  this  out ;  and  in  her 
kindly  disposition  Ellen  found  very  substantial  comfort 
and  benefit  throughout  the  voyage. 

Mrs.  Gillespie  told  her  husband  she  should  be  rejoiced  if  it 
turned  out  that  they  might  keep  Ellen  with  them  and  carry 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


245 


her  back  to  America ;  she  only  Avished  it  were  not  for  Mr. 
Humphreys  but  herself.  As  their  destination  was  not  now 
Scotland,  but  Paris,  it  was  proposed  to  write  to  Ellen's  friends 
to  ascertain  whether  any  change  had  occurred,  or  whether 
they  still  wished  to  receive  her.  This  however  was  rendered 
unnecessary.  They  were  scarcely  established  in  their  hotel, 
when  a  gentleman  from  Edinburgh,  an  intimate  friend  of  the 
Ventnor  family,  and  whom  Ellen  herself  had  more  than  once 
met  there,  came  to  see  them.  Mrs.  Gillespie  bethought  her- 
self to  make  inquiries  of  him. 

"  Do  you  happen  to  know  a  family  of  Lindsays,  in  Georges 
street,  Mr.  Dundas  ?" 

"  Lindsays  ?  yes,  perfectly  well.    Do  you  know  them  ?" 

"  No  ;  but  I  am  very  much  interested  in  one  of  the  famih''. 
Is  the  old  lady  living  ?" 

Yes,  certainly  ; — not  very  old  either — not  above  sixty,  or 
sixty-five  ;  and  as  hale  and  alert  as  at  forty.  A  very  fine  old 
lady." 

"  A  large  family  ?" 
0  no  ;  Mr.  Lindsay  is  a  widower  this  some  years,  with  no 
children  ;  and  there  is  a  widowed  daughter  lately  come  home, 
—Lady  Keith  ;— that's  all." 

"  Mr.  Lindsay — that  is,  the  son  ?" 

"  Yes.  You  would  like  them.  They  are  excellent  people 
— excellent  family — wealthy — beautiful  country  seat  on  the 
south  bank  of  the  Tyne,  some  miles  out  of  Edinburgh  ;  I  was 
down  there  two  weeks  ago ; — entertain  most  handsomely  and 
agreeably,  two  things  that  do  not  always  go  together.  You 
meet  a  pleasanter  circle  nowhere  than  at  Lindsay's." 

"  And  that  is  the  whole  family  ?"  said  Mrs.  Gillespie. 

"  That  is  all.  There  were  two  daughters  married  to 
America  some  dozen  or  so  years  ago.  Mrs.  Lindsay  took  it 
very  hard  I  believe,  but  she  bore  up,  and  bears  up  now,  as  if 
misfortune  had  never  crossed  her  path  ;  though  the  death  of 
Mr.  Lindsay's  wife  and  son  was  another  great  blow.  I  don't 
believe  there  is  a  grey  hair  in  her  head  at  this  moment. 
There  is  some  peculiarity  about  them  perhaps, — some  pride 
too; — but  that  is  an  amiable  weakness,"  he  added  laughing, 
as  he  rose  to  go  ; — "  Mrs.  Gillespie,  I  am  sure  will  not  find 
fault  with  them  for  it." 

"That's  an  insinuation,  Mr.  Dundas;  but  look  here,  what 


246 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


I  am  bringing  to  Mrs.  Lindsay  in  the  shape  of  a  grand- 
daughter/* 

"  What  my  old  acquaintance  Miss  Ellen  !  is  it  possible ! — 
My  dear  madam,  if  you  had  such  a  treasure  for  sale,  they 
would  pour  half  their  fortune  into  your  lap  to  purchase  it, 
and  the  other  half  at  her  feet." 

**  I  would  not  take  it,  Mr.  Dundas." 

"  It  would  be  no  mean  price,  I  assure  you,  in  itself,  how- 
ever it  might  be  comparatively.    I  give  Miss  Ellen  joy." 
Miss  Ellen  took  none  of  his  giving. 

"  Ah,  Ellen,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Gillespie  when  he  was 
gone, — "we  shall  never  have  you  back  in  America  again.  I 
give  up  all  hopes  of  it.  Why  do  you  look  so  solemn,  my 
love  ?  You  are  a  strange  child  ;  most  girls  would  be  de- 
lighted at  such  a  prospect  opening  before  them.*' 
You  forget  what  I  leave,  Mrs.  Gillespie." 
So  will  you,  my  love,  in  a  few  days ;  though  I  love  you 
for  remembering  so  well  those  that  have  been  kind  to  you. 
But  you  don't  realize  yet  what  is  before  you." 

"  Why  you'll  have  a  good  time,  Ellen,"  said  Marianne  ; — 
I  wonder  you  are  not  out  of  your  wits  with  joy.    /  should 
be." 

"  You  may  as  well  make  over  the  Brownie  to  me,  Ellen/* 
said  William  ; — "  I  expect  you'll  never  want  him  again." 

"  I  cannot,  you  know,  W^illiam ;  1  lent  him  to  Ellen 
Chauncey." 

''Lent  hira  ! — that's  a  good  one.    For  how  long  ?" 

Ellen  smiled,  though  sighing  inwardly  to  see  how  very 
much  narrowed  was  her  prospect  of  ever  mounting  him 
again.  She  did  not  care  to  explain  herself  to  those  around 
her.  Still,  at  the  very  bottom  of  her  heart  lay  two  thoughts, 
in  which  her  hope  refuged  itself.  One  was  a  peculiar  assu- 
rance that  whatever  her  brother  pleased,  nothing  could  hin- 
der him  from  accomplishing ;  the  other,  a  like  confidence 
that  it  would  not  please  him  to  leave  his  little  sister  unlooked- 
after.  But  all  began  to  grow  misty,  and  it  seemed  now  as  if 
Scotland  must  henceforth  be  the  limit  of  her  horizon. 

Leaving  their  children  at  a  relation's  house,  Major  and 
Mrs,  Gillespie  accompanied  her  to  the  north.  They  traveled 
post,  and  arriving  in  the  evening  at  Edinburgh  put  up  at  a  hotel 
in  Prince's  street.  It  was  agreed  that  Ellen  should  not  seek  her 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


247 


new  home  till  the  morrow ;  she  should  eat  one  more  supper 
and  breakfast  with  her  old  friends,  and  have  a  night's  rest, 
first.  She  was  very  glad  of  it.  The  Major  and  Mi-s.  Gilles- 
pie were  enchanted  with  tlie  noble  view  from  their  parlor 
windows ;  while  they  were  eagerly  conversing  together,  Ellen 
sat  alone  at  the  other  window,  looking  out  upon  the  curious 
Old  Town,  There  was  all  the  fascination  of  novelty  and 
beauty  about  that  singular  picturesque  mass  of  buildings,  in 
its  sober  coloring,  growing  more  sober  as  the  twilight  fell  ; 
and  just  before  outlines  were  lost  in  the  dusk,  lights  began 
feebly  to  twinkle  here  and  there,  and  grew  brighter  and  more 
as  the  night  came  on,  till  their  brilliant  multitude  were  all 
that  could  be  seen  where  the  curious  jumble  of  chimneys  and 
liouse-tops  and  crooked  ways  had  shown  a  little  before.  El- 
len sat  watching  this  lighting  up  of  the  Old  Town,  feeling 
strangely  that  she  was  in  the  midst  of  new  scenes  indeed,  en- 
tering upon  a  new  stage  of  life  ;  and  having  some  difficulty  to 
persuade  herself  that  she  was  really  Ellen  Montgomery.  'J'he 
scene  of  extreme  beauty  before  her  seemed  rather  to  increase 
the  confusion  and  sadness  of  her  mind.  Happily,  joyfully, 
Ellen  remembered,  as  she  sat  gazing  over  the  darkening  city 
and  its  brightening  lights,  that  there  was  One  near  her  who 
could  not  change ;  that  Scotland  was  no  remove  fi-om  him ; 
that  h\s  providence  as  well  as  his  heaven  was  over  her 
there  ;  that  there,  not  less  than  in  America,  she  was  his 
child.  She  rejoiced,  as  she  sat  in  her  dusky  window,  over 
his  words  of  assurance,  "  I  am  the  good  shepherd,  and  know 
my  sheep,  and  am  knov/n  of  mine and  she  looked  up  into 
the  clear  sky,  (that  at  least  was  homelike,)  in  tearful  thank- 
fulness, and  with  earnest  prayer  that  she  might  be  kept  from 
evil.  Ellen  guessed  she  might  have  special  need  to  olfer  that 
prayer.  And  as  again  her  eye  wandered  over  the  singular 
bright  spectacle  that  kept  reminding  her  she  was  a  stranger 
in  a  strange  place,  her  heart  joyfully  leaned  upon  another 
loved  sentence, — "  This  God  is  our  God  for  ever  and  ever  ; 
he  will  be  our  guide  even  unto  death." 
She  was  called  from  her  window  to  supper. 
Why  how  well  you  look,"  said  Mrs.  Gillespie ;  '*  I  ex- 
pected you  would  have  been  half  tired  to  death.  Doesn't 
she  look  well  ?" 


248 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


'*  As  if  she  were  neitlier  tired,  hungry,  nor  sleepy,"  said 
Major  Gillespie  kindly  ; — "  and  yet  she  must  be  all  three." 

Ellen  was  all  three.  But  she  had  the  rest  of  a  quiet 
mind. 

In  the  same  quiet  mind,  a  little  fluttered  and  anxious  now, 
she  set  out  in  the  post-chaise  the  next  morning  with  her  kind 
friends  to  No.  —  Georges  street.  It  Avas  their  intention, 
after  leaving  her,  to  go  straight  on  to  England.  They  weie 
in  a  hurry  to  be  there  ;  and  Mrs.  Gillespie  judged  that  the 
presence  of  a  stranger  at  the  meeting  between  Ellen  and  her 
relations  would  be  desired  by  none  of  the  parties.  But  when 
they  reached  the  house  they  found  the  family  were  not  at 
home  ;  they  were  in  the  country — at  their  place  on  the  Tyne. 
The  direction  w^as  obtained,  and  the  horses'  heads  turned 
that  way.  After  a  drive  of  some  lengthy  through  what  kind 
of  a  country  Ellen  could  hardly  have  told,  they  arrived  at 
the  place. 

It  was  beauti-fully  situated  ;  and  through  well-kept  grounds 
they  drove  up  to  a  large,  rather  old-fashioned,  substantial- 
looking  house.  "  The  ladies  were  at  home  ;"  and  that  ascer- 
tained, Ellen  took  a  kind  leave  of  Mrs.  Gillespie,  shook  hands 
with  the  Major  at  the  door,  and  was  left  alone,  for  the  second 
time  in  her  life,  to  make  her  acquaintance  with  new  and  un- 
tried friends.  She  stood  for  one  second  looking  after  the 
retreating  carriage, — one  swift  thought  went  to  her  adopted 
father  and  brotlierfar  away, — one  to  her  Friend  in  heaven, — 
and  Ellen  quietly  turned  to  the  servant  and  asked  for  Mrs. 
Lindsay. 

She  was  shown  into  a  large  room  Avhere  nobody  was,  and 
sat  down  with  a  beating  heart  while  the  servant  went  up 
stairs  ;  looking  with  a  strange  feeling  upon  what  was  to  be 
her  future  home.  The  house  was  handsome,  comfoi  tably, 
luxuriously  furnished  ;  but  without  any  attempt  at  display. 
Things  rather  old-fashioned  than  otherwise ;  plain,  even 
homely,  in  some  instances  ;  yet  evidently  there  was  no  spar- 
ing of  money  in  any  line  of  use  or  comfort ;  nor  were  reading 
and  writing,  painting  and  music,  strangers  there.  Uncon- 
sciously acting  upon  her  brother's  principle  of  judging  of 
people  from  their  works,  Ellen,  from  what  she  saw  gathered 
around  her,  formed  a  favorable  opinion  of  her  relations  ;  with- 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


249 


out  thinking  of  it,  for  indeed  she  was  thinking  of  something 
else. 

A  lady  presently  entered,  and  said  that  Mrs.  Lindsay  was 
not  very  well.  Seeing  Ellen's  very  hesitating  look,  she  added, 
"  shall  I  carry  her  any  message  for  you  ?" 

This  lady  was  well-looking  and  well  dressed  ;  but  somehow 
there  was  something  in  her  face  or  manner  that  encouraged 
Ellen  to  an  explanation  ;  she  could  make  none.  ^  She  silently 
gave  her  her  father's  letter,  with  which  the  lady  left  the 
room. 

In  a  minute  or  two  she  returned  and  said  her  mother  would 
see  Ellen  up  stairs,  and  asked  her  to  come  with  her.  This 
then  must  be  lady  Keith  ! — but  no  sign  of  recognition  ?  Ellen 
wondered,  as  her  trembling  feet  carried  her  up  stairs,  and  to 
the  door  of  a  room  where  the  lady  motioned  her  to  enter ; 
she  did  not  follow  herself. 

A  large  pleasant  dressing-room  ;  but  Ellen  saw  nothing 
but  the  dignified  figure  and  searching  glance  of  a  lady  in 
black,  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  floor.  At  the  look  w^iich 
instantly  followed  her  entering,  however,  Ellen  sprang  for- 
ward, and  was  received  in  arms  that  folded  her  as  fondly  and 
as  closely  as  ever  those  of  her  ow^n  mother  had  done.  With- 
out releasing  her  from  their  clasp,  Mrs.  Lindsay  presently  sat 
down ;  and  placing  Ellen  on  her  lap,  and  for  a  long  time 
without  speaking  a  word,  she  overwhelmed  her  with  caresses, 
— caresses  often  interrupted  with  passionate  bursts  of  tears. 
Ellen  herself  cried  heartily  for  company,  though  Mrs.  Lind- 
say little  guessed  why.  Along  with  the  joy  and  tenderness 
arising  from  the  finding  a  relation  that  so  much  loved  and 
valued  her,  and  along  with  the  sympathy  that  entered  into 
Mrs.  Lindsay's  thoughts,  there  mixed  other  feelings.  She 
began  to  know,  as  if  by  instinct,  what  kind  of  a  person  her 
grandmother  was.  The  clasp  of  the  arms  that  were  about 
her  said  as  plainly  as  possible,  "  I  will  never  let  you  go !" 
Ellen  felt  it ;  she  did  not  know  in  her  confusion  Avhether  she 
was  most  glad  or  most  sorry  ;  and  this  uncertainty  mightily 
helped  the  flow  of  her  tears. 

When  this  scene  had  lasted  some  time  Mrs.  Lindsay  began 
with  the  utmost  tenderness  to  take  off  Ellen's  gloves,  her 
cape,  (her  bonnet  had  been  hastily  thrown  oflF  long  before,) 
and  smoothing  back  her  hair,  and  taking  the  fair  little  face  \u 
11* 


250  THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


both  her  hands,  she  looked  at  it  and  pressed  it  to  her  own, 
as  indeed  something  most  dearly  prized  and  valued.  Then 
saying,  "  1  must  lie  down  ;  come  in  here,  love," — she  led  her 
into  the  next  room,  locked  the  door,  made  Ellen  stretch  her- 
self on  the  bed  ;  and  placing  herself  beside  her  drew  her 
close  to  her  bosom  again,  murmuring,  "  My  own  child — 
my  precious  child — my  KUen — my  own  darling — why  did  you 
stay  away  so  long  from  me  ? — tell  me  ?" 

It  was  necessary  to  tell ;  and  this  could  not  be  done  with- 
out revealing  Miss  Fortune's  disgraceful  conduct.  Ellen  -was 
sorry  for  that  ;  she  knew  her  mother's  American  match  had 
been  unpopular  with  her  friends  ;  and  now  what  notions  this 
must  irive  them  of  one  at  least  of  the  near  connections  to  whom 
it  had  introduced  her.  She  winced  under  what  might  be  her 
grandmother's  thoughts.  Mrs.  Lindsay  heard  her  in  abso- 
lute silence,  and  made  no  comment ;  and  at  the  end  again 
kissed  her  lips  and  cheeks,  embracing  her,  Ellen  felt,  as  a 
recovered  treasure  that  would  not  be  parted  with.  She  was 
not  satisfied  till  she  had  di'awn  Ellen's  head  fairly  to  rest  on 
her  breast,  and  then  her  caressing  hand  often  touched  her 
cheek,  or  smoothed  back  her  hair,  softly  now  and  then  asking 
slight  questions  about  her  voyage  and  journey  ;  till  exhausted 
from  excitement  more  than  fatigue  Ellen  Tell  asleep. 

Her  grandmother  was  beside  her  when  she  awoke,  and 
busied  herself  with  evident  delight  in  helping  her  to  get  off 
her  traveling  clothes  and  put  on  others  ;  and  then  she  took 
her  down  stairs  and  presented  her  to  her  aunt. 

Lady  Keith  had  not  been  at  home,  nor  in  Scotland,  at  the 
time  the  letters  passed  between  Mrs.  Montgomery  and  her 
mother  ;  and  the  result  of  that  correspondence,  respecting 
Ellen,  had  been  known  to  no  one  except  Mi's.  Lindsay  and 
her  son.  They  had  long  given  her  up  ;  the  rather  as  they 
had  seen  in  the  papers  the  name  of  Captain  Montgomery 
among  those  lost  in  the  ill-fated  T3uc  d'Orlcans.  Lady  Keith 
therefore  had  no  suspicion  who  Ellen  might  be.  She  received 
her  affectionately,  but  Ellen  did  not  get  rid  of  her  first  im- 
pression. 

Her  uncle  she  did  not  see  until  late  in  the  day,  w^hen  he 
came  home.  The  evening  was  extremely  fair,  and  having 
obtained  permission,  Ellen  wandered  out  into  the  shrubbery  ; 
glad  to  be  alone,  and  glad  for  a  moment  to  exchange  new 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


251 


faces  for  old  ;  the  flowers  were  old  friends  to  her,  and  never 
had  looked  more  friendly  than  then.  New  and  old  both  were 
there.  Ellen  went  on  softly  from  flower-bed  to  flower-bed, 
soothed  and  rested,  stopping  here  to  smell  one,  or  there  to 
gaze  at  some  old  favorite  or  new  beauty,  thinking  curious 
thoughts  of  the  past  and  the  future,  and  through  it  all  taking 
a  quiet  lesson  from  the  flowers  ; — when  a  servant  came  after 
her  with  a  request  from  Mrs.  Lindsay  that  she  would  return 
to  the  house.  Ellen  hurried  in  ;  she  guessed  for  what,  and 
was  sure  as  soon  as  she  opened  the  door  and  saw  the  figure 
of  a  gentleman  sitting  before  Mrs.  Lindsay.  Ellen  remem- 
bered well  she  was  sent  to  her  uncle  as  well  as  her  grand- 
mother, and  she  came  forward  with  a  beating  heart  to  Mrs. 
Lindsay's  outstretched  hand,  which  presented  her  to  this  other 
ruler  of  her  destiny.  He  was  very  different  from  Lady  Keith, 
— her  anxious  glance  saw  that  at  once, — more  like  his  mother. 
A  man  not  far  from  fifty  years  old  ;  fine-looking  and  stately 
like  her,  Ellen  was  not  left  long  in  suspense  ;  his  look  in- 
stantly softened  as  his  mother's  had  done ;  he  drew  her  to 
his  arms  with  great  affection,  and  evidently  with  very  great 
pleasure  ;  then  held  her  off  for  a  moment  while  he  looked  at 
her  changing  color  and  downcast  eye,  and  folded  her  close  in 
his  arms  again,  from  which  he  seemed  hardly  wilKng  to  let 
her  go,  whispering  as  he  kissed  her,  "  You  are  m.y  own  child 
now, — you  are  my  little  daughter, — do  youknow^  that,  Ellen  ? 
I  am  your  father  henceforth  ; — you  belong  to  me  entirely,  and 
I  belong  to  you  ; — my  own  little  daughter  !" 

"  1  wonder  how  many  times  one  may  be  adopted,"  thought 
Ellen  that  evening  ; — "  but  to  be  sure,  my  father  and  my 
mother  have  quite  given  me  up  here, — that  makes  a  difl'er- 
ence ;  they  had  a  right  to  give  me  away  if  they  pleased. 
I  suppose  I  do  belong  to  my  uncle  and  grandmother  in  good 
earnest,  and  I  cannot  help  myself.  Well !  but  Mr.  Hum- 
phreys seems  a  great  deal  more  like  my  father  than  my 
vmcle  Lindsay.  I  cannot  help  that — but  how  they  would 
be  vexed  if  they  knew  it !" 

That  was  profoundly  true  ! . 

Ellen  was  in  a  few  days  the  dear  pet  and  darling  of  the 
whole  household,  without  exception  and  almost  without  hmit. 
At  first,  for  a  day  or  two,  there  was  a  little  lurking  doub't, 
a  little  anxiety   a  constant  watch,  on  the  part  of  all  hei 


252 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  W^ORLD. 


friends,  whether  they  were  not  going  to  find  something  in 
their  newly  acquired  treasure  to  disappoint  th.em  ;  whether 
it  could  be  that  there  Avas  nothing  behind  to  belie  the  first 
promise.  Less  keen  observers,  however,  could  not  have 
failed  to  see  very  soon  that  there  was  no  disappointment  to 
be  looked  for ;  Ellen  was  just  what  she  seemed,  without  the 
shadow  of  a  cloak  in  anything.  Doubts  vanished  ;  and  Ellen 
had  not  been  three  days  in  the  house  when  she  was  taken 
home  to  two  hearts  at  least  in  unbounded  love  and  tender- 
ness. When  Mr.  Lindsay  v/as  present  he  was  not  satisfied 
without  having  Ellen  in  his  arms  or  close  beside  him ;  and 
if  not  there  she  was  at  the  side  of  her  grandmother. 

There  was  nothing  however  in  the  character  of  this  fond- 
ness, great  as  it  was,  that  would  have  inclined  any  child  to 
presume  upon  it.  Ellen  was  least  of  all  likely  to  try ;  but 
if  her  will,  by  any  chance,  had  run  counter  to  theirs,  she 
would  have  found  it  impossible  to  maintain  her  ground.  She 
understood  this  from  the  first  with  her  grandmother  ;  and 
in  one  or  two  trifles  since  had  been  more  and  more  confirmed 
in  the  feeling  that  they  would  do  with  her  and  make  of  her 
precisely  what  they  pleased,  without  the  smallest  regard  to 
her  fancy.  If  it  jumped  with  theirs,  very  well ;  if  not,  it 
must  yieid.  In  one  matter  Ellen  had  been  roused  to  plead 
very  hard,  and  even  with  tears,  to  have  her  wish,  Avhich  she 
verily  thought  she  ought  to  have  had.  Mrs.  Lindsay 
smiled  and  kissed  her,  and  went  on  with  the  utmost  cool- 
ness in  what  she  was  doino-,  which  she  carried  throuo^h,  with- 
out  in  the  least  regarding  Ellen's  distress  or  showing  the 
shghtest  discomposure  ;  and  the  same  thing  was  repeated 
every  day,  till  Ellen  got  used  to  it.  Her  uncle  she  had 
never  seen  tried ;  but  she  knew  it  would  be  the  same  with 
him.  When  Mr.  Lindsay  clasped  her  to  his  bosom  Ellen 
felt  it  was  as  his  own;  his  eye  always  seemed  to  repeat, 
"  my  own  little  daughter  ;"  and  in  his  whole  manner  love 
was  mingled  with  as  much  authority.  Perhaps  Ellen  did 
not  like  them  much  the  worse  for  this,  as  she  had  no  sort 
of  disposition  to  displease  them  in  anything ;  but  it  gave 
rise  to  sundry  thoughts  however,  which  she  kept  to  her- 
self; thoughts  that  went  both  to  the  future  and  the  pasi. 

"  Lady  Keith,  it  may  be,  had  less  heart  to  give  than  her 
mother  and  brother,  but  pride  took  up  the  matter  instead; 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


253 


and  according  to  her  measure  Ellen  held  with  her  the  same 
place  she  held  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Lindsay ;  being  the  great 
delight  and  darling  of  all  three  ;  and  with  all  three,  seemingly, 
the  great  object  in  life. 

A  few  days  after  her  arrival,  a  week  or  more,  she  under- 
went one  eveninof  a  kind  of  catechisingf  from  her  aunt,  as  to 
her  former  manner  of  life  ; — where  she  had  been  and  with 
whom  since  her  mother  left  her  ;  what  she  had  been  doing  ; 
whether  she  had  been  to  school,  and  how  her  time  was  spent 
at  home,  (fee,  &c.  No  comments  whatever  were  made  on 
her  answers,  but  a  something  in  her  aunt's  face  and  manner 
induced  Ellen  to  make  her  replies  as  brief  and  to  give  her  as 
little  information  in  them  as  she  could.  She  did  not  feel 
inclined  to  enlarge  upon  anything,  or  to  go  at  all  further  than 
the  questions  obliged  her ;  and  Lady  Keith  ended  without 
having  more  than  a  very  general  notion  of  Ellen's  way  of  life 
for  three  or  four  years  past.  This  conversation  w^as  repeated 
to  her  grandmother  and  uncle. 

"  To  think,"  said  the  latter  the  next  morning  at  breakfast, 
— "  to  think  that  the  backwoods  of  America  should  have 
turned  us  out  such  a  little  specimen  of"  • 

"  Of  what,  imcle  ?"  said  Ellen  laughing. 

"  Ah,  I  shall  not  tell  you  that,"  said  he. 

•*  But  it  is  extraordinary,"  said  Lady  Keith, — "  how  after 
living  among  a  parcel  of  thick-headed  and  thicker  tongued 
Yankees  she  should  come  out  and  speak  pure  English  in  a 
clear  voice  ; — it  is  an  enigma  to  me." 

"Take  care,  Catherine,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay  laughing, — "you 
are  touching  Ellen's  nationality  ; — look  here,"  said  he,  draw- 
ing his  fingers  down  her  cheek. 

"  She  must  learn  to  have  no  nationaUty  but  yours,"  raid 
Lady  Keith  somewhat  shortly. 

Ellen's  lips  were  open,  but  she  spoke  not. 

"  It  is  well  you  have  come  out  from  the  Americans,  you 
Fce,  Ellen,"  pursued  Mr.  Lindsay  ; — *'  your  aunt  does  not  like 
them." 

"  But  why,  sir  ?" 

"  Why,"  said  he  gravely, — "  don't  you  know  that  they  are 
a  parcel  of  rebels  who  have  broken  loose  from  all  loyalty  and 
fealty,  that  no  good  Briton  has  any  business  to  like  ?" 

"  You  are  not  in  earnest,  uncle  ?" 


254 


THE    WIDH,  WIDE  WORLD. 


"  You  are,  T  see,"  said  he,  looking  amused.  "  Are  you  one 
of  those  tluit  make  a  saint  of  Georo-e  Washinfrton  ?" 

o  o 

"  No,"  said  Ellen, — "  1  think  he  was  a  great  deal  better 
than  some  saints.  But  I  don't  think  the  Americans  were 
rebels." 

"  You  are  a  little  rebel  yourself.  Do  you  mean  to  say  yea 
think  the  Americans  were  right?" 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  think  they  were  wrong,  uncle  *?  " 

"  1  assure  you,"  said  he,  "  if  I  had  been  in  the  English 
army  I  should  have  fought  them  with  all  my  heart." 

"  And  if  1  had  been  in  the  American  army  I  would  have 
fought  you  with  all  my  heart,  uncle  Lindsay." 

"  Come,  come,"  said  he  laughing  ; — "  you  fight !  you  don't 
look  as  if  you  would  do  battle  with  a  good-sized  mosquito." 
Ah,  but  1  mean,  if  I  had  been  a  man,"  said  Ellen. 

"  You  had  better  put  in  that  qualification.  After  all,  I 
am  inclined  to  think  it  may  be  as  well  for  you  on  the  whole 
that  we  did  not  meet.  I  don't  know  but  we  might  have 
had  a  pretty  stiff  encounter,  though." 

A  good  cause  is  stronger  than  a  bad  one,  uncle." 

"But  Ellen, — these  Americans  foifeited  entirely  the  char- 
acter of  good  fj-iends  to  England  and  good  subjects  to  King 
George." 

"  Yes,  but  it  was  King  George's  fault,  uncle  ;  he  and  the 
English  forfeited  their  characters  first." 

"1  declare,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay  laughing,  "if  your  sword 
had  been  as  stout  as  your  tongue,  I  don't  know  how  I  might 
have  come  off  in  that  same  encounter." 

"  1  hope  Ellen  will  get  rid  of  these  strange  notions  about 
the  Americans,"  said  Lady  Keith  discontentedly. 

"  I  hope  not,  aunt  Keith,"  said  Ellen. 

"  Where  did  vou  get  them  ?"  said  Mr.  Lindsay. 

"What,  sir  ?  " 

"  These  notions  ?" 

"  In  reading,  sir  ;  reading  different  books  ; — and  talking." 

"  Reading  ! — So  you  did  read  in  the  backwoods  ?" 

"  Sir  !"  said  Ellen,  with  a  look  of  surprise. 

"  What  have  you  read  on  this  subject?" 

".Two  fives  of  Washington,  and  some  in  the  Annual  Reg- 
ister, and  part  of  Graham's  United  States ;  and  one  or  two 
other  little  thinfrs." 

o 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


255 


**  But  those  gave  you  only  one  side  Ellen  ;  you  should  read 
the  English  account  of  the  matter." 

"  So  I  did,  sir ;  the  Annual  Register  gave  me  both  sides  ; 
the  bills  and  messages  were  enough." 

"  What  Annual  Register  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  sir  ; — it  is  English  ; — written  by  Burke,  I 
believe." 

"  Upon  my  word  !    And  what  else  have  you  read  ?" 
"  I  think  that's  all,  about  America,"  said  Ellen. 
"  No,  but  about  other  things  ?" 

"01  don't  know,  sir,"  said  Ellen  smiling ; — "  a  great  many 
books  ; — I  can't  tell  them  all." 

"  Did  you  spend  all  your  time  over  your  books?" 
"  A  good  deal,  sir,  lately ; — not  so  much  before." 
"  How  was  that  ?" 

"  I  couldn't,  sir.  I  had  a  great  many  other  things  to  do." 
"  What  else  had  you  to  do  ?" 

"  Different  things,"  said  Ellen,  hesitating  from  the  remem- 
brance of  her  aunt's  manner  the  ni^ht  before. 
"  Come,  come  !  answer  me." 

"  I  had  to  sweep  and  dust,"  said  Ellen  coloring, — "  and 
set  tables, — and  wash  and  wnpe  dishes, — and  churn, — and 
spin, — and — " 

Ellen  heard  Lady  Keith's  look  in  her,  "  Could  you  have 
conceived  it !" 

"  What  shall  we  do  with  her  ?"  said  Mrs.  Lindsay  ; — • 
"  send  her  to  school  or  keep  her  at  home  ?" 

"  Have  you  never  been  to  school,  Ellen  ?" 

"  No  sir  ;  except  for  a  very  little  while,  more  than  three 
years  ago." 

"  Would  you  like  it?" 

"I  would  a  great  deal  rather  study  at  home,  sir, — if  you 
will  let  me." 

"  What  do  you  know  now  ?" 

"01  can't  tell,  sir,"  said  Ellen ; — I  don't  know  anything 
very  well, — unless — 

"  Unless  what  ?"  said  her  uncle  laughing  ; — "  come  !  now 
*or  your  accomplishments." 

I  had  rather  not  say  what  I  was  going  to,  uncle  ;  please 
don't  ask  me." 


256 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


**  Yes,  yes,"  said  he ; — "  I  sha'n't  let  you  off.  Unless 
what?" 

"  I  was  going  to  say,  unless  riding,"  said  Ellen  coloring, 

"  Riding  ! — And  pray  how  did  you  learn  to  ride  ?  Catch 
a  horse  by  the  mane  and  mount  him  by  the  fence  and  canter 
off  bare-backed  ?  was  that  it  ?  eh  ?" 

"  Not  exactly,  sir,"  said  Ellen  laughing. 

"  Well,  but  about  your  other  accomplishments.  You  do 
not  know  anything  of  French,  1  suppose  ?" 

"  Yes  1  do,  sir." 

"  Where  did  you  get  that  ?" 
An  old  Swiss  lady  in  the  mountains  taught  me." 

"  Country  riding,  and  Swiss  French,"  muttered  her  uncle. 
"  Did  she  teach  you  to  speak  it  ?" 

"  Yes  sir." 

Mr.  Lindsay  and  his  mother  exchanged  glances,  which 
Ellen  interpreted,  "  Worse  and  worse." 

"  One  thing  at  least  can  be  mended,"  observed  Mr.  Lind- 
say.. "  She  shall  go  to  De  Courcy's  riding  school  as  soon 
as  we  get  to  Edinburgh." 

"  Indeed,  uncle,  I  don't  think  that  will  be  necessary." 

"  Who  taught  you  to  ride,  Ellen  ?"  asked  Lady  Keith. 

"  My  brother." 

"  Humph  ! — I  fancy  a  few  lessons  will  do  you  no  harm," 
she  remarked. 

Ellen  colored  and  was  silent. 

"  You  know  nothing  of  music,  of  course  ?" 

"  I  cannot  play,  uncle." 

"  Can  you  sing  ?" 

"  I  can  sing  hymns." 

"  Sing  hymns  !  That's  the  only  fault  I  find  with  you, 
Ellen, — you  are  too  sober.  I  should  like  to  see  you  a  little 
more  gay, — like  other  children." 

"  But  uncle,  I  am  not  unhappy  because  I  am  sober." 

"  But  I  am,"  said  he.  "  1  do  not  know  precisely  what  I 
shall  do  with  you  ;  I  must  do  something  !" 

Can  you  sing  nothing  but  liymns  ?"  said  Lady  Keith. 

"  Yes  ma'am,"  said  Ellen,  with  some  humor  twinkling 
about  her  eyes  and  mouth,-—"  1  can  sing  *  Hail  Columbia]'  " 

"  Absurd  !"  said  Lady  Keith. 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  VtORLD. 


257 


Why  Ellen,"  said  her  uncle  laughing, — "  I  did  not  know 
you  could  be  so  stubborn  ;  I  thought  you  were  made  up  of 
gentleness  and  mildness.  Let  me  have  a  good  look  at  you, — • 
there's  not  much  stubbornness  in  those  eyes,"  he  said  fondly. 

"  I  hope  you  will  never  salute  my  ears  with  your  American 
ditty,"  said  Lady  Keith. 

"  Tut,  tut,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  she  shall  sing  what  she 
pleases,  and  the  more  the  better." 

"  She  has  a  very  sweet  voice,"  said  her  grandmother. 

"  Yes,  in  speaking,  I  know  ;  I  have  not  heard  it  tried 
ovherwise  ;  and  very  nice  English  it  turns  out.  Where  did 
you  get  your  English,  Ellen  ?" 

"  From  my  brother,"  said  Ellen,  with  a  smile  of  pleasure. 

Mr.  Lindsay's  brow  rather  clouded. 

"  Whom  do  you  mean  by  that  ?" 

"  The  brother  of  the  lady  that  was  so  kind  to  me."  Ellen 
disliked  to  speak  the  loved  names  in  the  hearing  of  ears  to 
which  she  knew  they  would  be  unlovely. 

"  How  was  she  so  kind  to  you  ?" 

"  Oh  sir  ! — in  everything — I  cannot  tell  you  ; — she  was  ray 
friend  when  I  had  only  one  beside  ;  she  did  everything  for  me." 
"  And  who  was  the  other  friend  ?  your  aunt?" 
"  No  eir." 
'♦This  brother?" 

"  No  sir ;  that  was  before  I  knew  him." 
"  Who  then  ?" 

His  name  was  Mr.  Van  Brunt." 
"Van  Brunt! — Humph  ! — And  what  was  he?" 

He  was  a  farmer,  sir." 
"  A  Dutch  farmer,  eh  ?  how  came  you  to  have  anything  to 
do  with  Mm 

"  He  managed  my  aunt's  farm,  and  was  a  great  deal  in  the 
house." 

"  He  was !  And  v/hat  makes  you  call  this  other  yoar 
hrother  r 

"  His  sister  called  me  her  sister — and  that  makes  me  his." 

"  It  is  very  absurd,"  said  Lady  Keith,  "  when  they  are 
nothing  at  all  to  her,  and  ought  not  to  be." 

It  seems  then  you  did  not  find  a  friend  in  your  aunt, 
Ellen  ?— eh  ?'" 


258 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


"  I  don't  think  she  loved  me  much,"  said  Ellen  in  a  low 
voice. 

"  I  am  very  glad  we  are  clear  of  obligation  on  her  score," 
said  Mrs.  Lindsay. 

Obligation  ! — And  so  you  had  nothing  else  to  depend  on 
Ellen  but  this  man — this  Van  something — this  Dutchman  ? 
what  did  he  do  for  you  ?" 

"  A  great  deal,  sir  ;" — Ellen  w^ould  have  said  more,  but  a 
feeling  in  her  throat  stopped  her. 

"  Now  just  hear  that,  will  you  ?"  said  Lady  Keith.  Just 
think  of  her  in  that  farm-house,  with  that  sweeping  and  dust- 
ing woman  and  a  Dutch  farmer,  for  these  three  years  !" 

"  No,"  said  Ellen, — "  not  all  the  time ;  this  last  year  I 
have  been" — 

"  Where,  Ellen  ?" 

"At  the  other  house,  sir." 

"What  house  is  that?" 

"  Where  that  lady  and  gentleman  lived  that  w^ere  my  best 
friends." 

"  Well  it's  all  very  well,"  said  Lady  Keith, — "  but  it  is 
past  now ;  it  is  all  over ;  you  need  not  think  of  them  any 
more.  We  will  find  you  better  friends  than  any  of  these 
Dutch  Brunters  or  Grunters," 

"  Oh  aunt  Keith  !"  said  Ellen, — "  if  you  knew" — But  she 
burst  into  tears. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  taking  her  in  his  arms, 
— "  I  will  not  have  that.  Hush  my  daughter.  What  is  the 
matter,  Ellen?" 

But  Ellen  had  wnth  some  difficulty  contained  herself  two  or 
three  times  before  in  the  course  of  the  conversation,  and 
she  wept  now  rather  violently. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Ellen  ?" 
Because,"  sobbed  Ellen,  thoroughly  roused, — "  I  love 
them  dearly !  and  I  ought  to  love  them  with  all  my  heart. 
I  cannot  forget  them,  and  never  shall ;  and  1  can  never  have 
better  friends — never! — it's  impossible — O  it's  impossible."' 

Mr.  Lindsay  said  nothing  at  first  except  to  soothe  her ;  but 
when  she  had  wept  herself  into  quietneirs  upon  his  breast,  he 
whispered, 

**  It  is  right  to  love  these  people  if  they  were  kind  to  you, 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


259 


but,  as  your  aunt  says,  that  is  past.  It  is  not  necessary  to  go 
back  to  it.  Forget  that  you  were  Amei  ican,  Ellen, — you  be- 
long to  me  ;  your  name  is  not  Montgomery  any  more, — it  is 
Lindsay  ; — and  I  will  not  have  you  call  me  '  uncle  ' — I  am 
your  father ; — you  are  my  own  little  daughter,  and  must  do 
precisely  what  I  tell  you.    Do  you  understand  me  ?" 

He  would  have  a  "  yes"  from  her,  and  then  added,  Go 
and  get  yourself  ready  and  1  will  take  you  with  me  to  Edin- 
burgh." 

Ellen's  tears  had  been  like  to  burst  forth  again  at  his 
words  ;  with  great  effort  she  controlled  herself  and  obeyed 
him. 

"  I  shall  do  precisely  what  he  tells  me  of  course,"  she  said 
to  herself  as  she  went  to  get  ready  ; — "  but  there  are  some 
things  he  cannot  command ;  nor  I  neither ; — 1  am  glad  of 
that !    Forget  indeed  !" 

She  could  not  help  loving  her  uncle  ;  for  the  lips  that  kiss- 
ed her  were  very  kind  as  well  as  very  peremptory  ;  and  if  the 
hand  that  pressed  her  cheek  was,  as  she  felt  it  was,  the  hand 
of  power,  its  touch  was  also  exceeding  fond.  And  as  she 
was  no  more  inclined  to  dispute  his  will  than  he  to  permit  it, 
the  harmony  between  them  was  perfect  and  unbroken. 


CHAPTER  XLYIII. 


Bear  a  lily  in  thy  hand  ; 
Gates  of  brass  cannot  withstand 
One  touch  of  that  magic  wand. 

Longfellow. 

Mr.  Lindsay  had  some  reason  that  morning  to  wisli  that 
Kllen  would  look  merrier ;  it  was  a  very  sober  little  face  he 
saw  by  his  side  as  the  carriage  rolled  smoothly  on  with  them 
towards  Edinburgh  ;  almost  pale  in  its  sadness.  He  lavished 
the  tenderest  kindness  upon  her,  and  without  going  back  by 
so  much  as  a  hint  to  the  subjects  of  the  morning,  he  exerted 
himself  to  direct  her  attention  to  the  various  objects  of  note 
and  interest  they  were  passing.  The  day  was  fine,  and  the 
country,  also  the  carriage  and  the  horses ;  Ellen  was  dearly 
fond  of  driving  ;  and  long  before  they  reached  the  city  Mr. 
Lindsay  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  her  smile  break  again, 
her  eye  brighten,  and  her  happy  attention  fixing  on  the 
things  he  pointed  out  to  her,  and  many  others  that  she  found 
for  herself  on  the  way, — his  horses  first  of  all.  Mr.  Lindsay 
might  relax  his  efforts  and  look  on  with  secret  triumph;  El- 
len was  in  the  full  train  of  delighted  observation. 

"  You  are  easily  pleased,  Ellen,"  he  said,  in  answer  to  one 
of  her  simple  remarks  of  admiration. 

"  1  have  a  great  deal  to  please  me,"  said  Ellen. 

"  What  would  you  like  to  see  in  Edinburgh  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  sir  ;  anything  you  please." 

"  Then  I  will  show  you  a  httle  of  the  city  in  the  first 
place." 

They  drove  through  the  streets  of  Edinburgh,  both  the 
Old  and  the  New  Town,  in  various  directions ;  Mr.  Lindsay 
extremely  pleased  to  see  that  Ellen  was  so,  and  much  amused 
at  the  curiosity  shown  in  her  questions,  which  however  were 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


261 


by  no  means  as  free  and  frequent  as  they  might  have  been 
had  John  Humphreys  filled  her  uncle's  place. 

"  What  large  building  is  that  over  there  ?"  said  Ellen. 

"  That  ? — that  is  Holyrood  House." 

"  Holyrood  ! — I  have  heard  of  that  before  ; — isn't  that 
where  Queen  Mary's  rooms  are  ?  where  Rizzio  was  killed  ?" 
"  Yes  ;  would  you  Hke  to  see  them  ?" 
"  Oh  very  much  !" 

"Drive  to  the  Abbey — So  you  have  read  Scottish  history 
as  well  as  American,  Ellen  ?" 

"  Not  very  much,  sir ;  only  the  Tales  of  a  Grandfather  yet. 
But  what  made  me  say  that, — I  have  read  an  account  of 
Holyrood  House  somewhere.    Uncle — " 

"  Ellen !" 

I  beg  your  pardon,  sir ; — I  forgot ; — it  seems  strange  to 
me,"  said  Ellen,  looking  distressed. 

"  It  must  not  seem  strange  to  you,  my  daughter ;  what 
were  you  going  to  say  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  sir, — 0,  I  was  going  to  ask  if  the  silver 
cross  is  here  now,  to  be  seen  ? 

"  What  silver  cross  ?" 

"  That  one  from  which  the  Abbey  was  named,  sir, — the 
silver  rood  that  was  given,  they  pretended,  to — I  forget  now 
what  king, — " 

"  David  First,  the  founder  of  the  Abbey  ?  No,  it  is  not 
here,  Ellen ;  David  the  Second  lost  it  to  the  English.  But 
why  do  you  say  pretended,  Ellen  ?  It  was  a  very  real  af- 
fair ;  kept  in  England  for  a  long  time  with  great  veneration." 

"  0  yes,  sir  ;  I  know  the  cross  was  real ; — I  mean,  it  was 
pretended  that  an  angel  gave  it  to  King  David  when  he  was 
hunting  here." 

"  Well,  how  can  you  tell  but  that  was  so  ?  King  David 
was  made  a  saint,  you  know." 

"  O  sir,"  said  Ellen  laughing,  "  I  know  better  than  that; 
I  know  it  was  only  a  monkish  trick." 

"  Monkish  trick  !  which  do  you  mean  ?  the  giving  of  the 
cross,  or  the  making  the  king  a  saint  ?" 

"  Both,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  still  smihng. 

**  At  that  rate,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  much  amused,  "if  you 
are  such  a  skeptic,  you  will  take  no  comfort  in  anything  at 
the  Abbey  —you  will  not  believe  anything  is  genuine." 


262 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


"  I  will  believe  what  you  tell  me,  sir." 
Will  you  ?    I  must  be  careful  what  1  say  to  you  then,  or 
I  may  run  the  risk  of  losing  my  own  credit." 

Mr.  Lindsay  spoke  this  half  jestingly,  half  in  earnest. 
They  went  over  the  palace. 

"  Is  this  very  old,  sir  ?"  asked  Ellen. 

"  Not  very  ;  it  has  been  burnt  and  demolished  and  rebuilt, 
till  nothing  is  left  of  the  old  Abbey  of  King  David  but  the 
ruins  of  the  chapel,  which  you  shall  see  presently.  The 
oldest  part  of  the  House  is  that  we  are  going  to  see  now, 
s  built  by  James  Fifth,  Mary's  father,  where  her  rooms  are," 

At  these  rooms  Ellen  looked  with  intense  interest.  She 
pored  over  the  old  furniture,  the  needlework  of  which  she 
was  told  was  at  least  in  part  the  work  of  the  beautiful  Queen's 
own  fingers  ;  gazed  at  the  stains  in  the  floor  of  the  bed-cham- 
ber, said  to  be  those  of  Rizzio's  blood  ;  meditated  over  the 
trap-door  in  the  passage,  by  which  the  conspirators  had  come 
up  ;  and  finally  sat  down  in  the  room  and  tried  to  realize  the 
scene  which  had  once  been  acted  there.  She  tried  to  ima- 
gine the  poor  Queen  and  her  attendant  and  her  favorite 
Rizzio  sitting  there  at  supper,  and  how  that  door,  that  very 
door, — had  opened,  and  Ruthven's  ghastly  figure,  pale  and 
weak  from  illness,  presented  itself,  and  then  others ;  the 
alarm  of  the  moment ;  how  Rizzio  knew  they  were  come  for 
him  and  fled  to  the  Queen  for  protection  ;  how  she  was  with- 
held from  giving  it,  and  the  unhappy  man  pulled  away  from 
her  and  stabbed  with  a  great  many  wounds  before  her  face  ; 
and  there,  there  ! — no  doubt, — his  blood  fell !" — 

"  You  are  tired  ; — this  doesn't  please  you  much,"  said  Mr. 
Lindsay,  noticing  her  grave  look. 

"  0  it  pleases  me  venj  much  !"  said  Ellen,  starting  up  ; — 
"I  do  not  wonder  she  swore  vengeance." 

"  Who  ?"  said  Mr.  Lindsay  laughing. 

"  Queen  Mary,  sir." 

"  Were  you  thinking  of  her  all  this  while  ?  I  am  glad  of 
it.  I  spoke  to  you  once  without  getting  a  word.  I  was 
afraid  this  was  not  amusing  enough  to  detain  your  thoughts." 

"  0  yes  it  was,"  said  Ellen  ; — "  I  have  been  trying  to  think 
about  ar  that.    I  like  to  look  at  old  things  very  much." 

"  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  see  the  Regalia." 

"The  what,  sir?" 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


263 


**  The  Royal  things — the  old  diadem  and  sceptre,  &c.,  of 
the  Scottish  kings.  Well  come,"  said  he,  as  he  read  the 
answer  in  Ellen's  face, — "  we  will  go  ;  but  first  let  us  see  the 
old  chapel." 

With  this  Ellen  w^as  wonderfully  pleased.  This  was  much 
older  still  than  Queen  Mary's  rooms.  Ellen  admired  the  wild 
melancholy  look  of  the  gothic  pillars  and  arches  springing 
from  the  green  turf,  the  large  carved  window  empty  of  glass, 
the  broken  walls  ; — and  looking  up  to  the  blue  sky,  she  tried 
to  imagine  the  time  when  the  gothic  roof  closed  overhead, 
and  music  sounded  through  the  arches,  and  trains  of  stoled  f 
monks  paced  among  them,  Avhere  now  the  very  pavement  was 
not.  Strange  it  seemed,  and  hard,  to  go  back  and  realize  it ; 
but  in  the  midst  of  this,  the  familiar  face  of  tlie  sky  set  Ellen's 
thoughts  off  upon  a  new  track,  and  suddenly  they  were  at 
home, — on  the  lawn  before  the  parsonage.  The  monks  and 
the  Abbey  were  forgotten  ;  she  silently  gave  her  hand  to  her 
uncle  and  vralked  with  him  to  the  carriage. 

Arrived  at  the  Crown  Room,  Ellen  fell  into  another  fit  of 
grave  attention ;  but  Mr.  Lindsay,  taught  better,  did  not  this 
time  mistake  rapt  interest  for  absence  of  mind.  He  answered 
questions  and  gave  her  several  pieces  of  information,  and  let 
her  take  her  own  time  to  gaze  and  meditate. 

"This  beautiful  sword,"  said  he,  "was  a  present  from 
Pope  Julius  Second  to  James  Fourth." 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  the  Popes,"  said  Ellen. 
"James  Fourth  ? — I  forget  what  kind  of  a  king  he  w^as." 

"He  was  a  very  good  king  ; — he  was  the  one  that  died  at 
Flodden." 

"  0,  and  wore  an  iron  girdle  because  he  had  fought  against 
his  father, — poor  man  !"' 

"  Why  '  poor  man,'  Ellen  ?  he  was  a  very  royal  prince  ; 
why  do  you  say  '  poor  man  ?'  " 

"  Because  he  didn't  know  any  better,  sir." 

**  Didn't  know  any  better  than  what  ?" 

**  Than  to  think  an  iron  girdle  would  do  him  any  good." 

"  But  why  wouldn't  it  do  him  any  good  ?" 

"  Because,  you  know  sir.  that  is  not  the  way  we  can  have 
our  sins  forgiven." 

"  What  is  the  way  ?" 

Ellen  looked  at  him  to  see  if  he  was  in  jest  or  earnest.  Her 


264 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


look  staggered  him  a  little,  but  he  repeated  his  question. 
She  cast  her  eyes  down  and  answered, 

"  Jesus  Christ  said,  *  I  am  the  way,  the  truth,  and  the  life ; 
no  man  cometh  unto  the  Father  but  by  me.'  " 

Mr.  Lindsay  said  no  more. 
I  wish  that  was  the  Bruce's  crown,"  said  Ellen  after  a 
vhile.    "  I  should  like  to  see  anything  that  belonged  to  him." 

"  I'll  take  you  to  the  field  of  Bannockburn  some  day  ;  that 
belonged  to  him  with  a  vengeance.    It  lies  over  yonder." 

"  Bannockburn  !  will  you?  and  Stirling  Castle  ! — O  how  I 
should  like  that !" 

"  Stirling  Castle,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  smiling  at  Ellen's 
clasped  hands  of  delight, — "  what  do  you  know  of  Stirling 
Castle  ?" 

"  From  the  history,  you  know,  sir ;  and  the  Lord  of  the 
Isles  ; — 

"  Old  Stirling's  towers  arose  in  light — " 

"Go  on,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay. 

'*  And  twined  in  links  of  silver  bright 
Her  winding  river  lay." 

"  That's  this  same  river  Forth,  Ellen.  Do  you  know  any 
more  ?" 

"  0  yes,  sir." 

"  Go  on  and  tell  me  all  you  can  remember." 
"  All  ;  that  would  be  a  great  deal,  sir." 

Go  on  till  I  tell  you  to  stop." 
Ellen  gave  him  a  good  part  of  the  battle,  with  the  intro- 
duction to  it. 

"  You  have  a  good  memory,  Ellen,"  he  said,  looking 
pleased. 

"  Because  I  like  it,  sir ;  that  makes  it  easy  to  remember.  I 
like  the  Scots  people." 

*'  Do  you  !"  said  Mr.  Lindsay  much  gratified  ; — "  I  did 
not  know  you  liked  anything  on  this  side  of  the  water.  Why 
do  you  like  them?" 

Because  they  never  would  be  conquered  by  the  Eng- 
lish." 

"  So,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  half  amused  and  half  disap- 
pointed,— the  long  and  the  short  of  it  is,  you  like  them  be- 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


265 


cause  they  fought  the  enemies  you  were  so  eager  to  have  a 
blow  at." 

"  0  no,  sir,"  said  Ellen  laughing,  "  I  do  not  mean  that  at 
all ;  the  French  were  England's  enemies  too,  and  helped  us 
besides,  but  I  like  the  Scots  a  great  deal  better  than  the 
French.    I  like  them  because  they  would  be  free." 

"  You  have  an  extraordinary  taste  for  freedom !  And 
pray,  are  all  the  x\raerican  children  as  strong  repubhcans  as 
yourself  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  sir  ;  I  hope  so." 

"  Pretty  well,  upon  my  word  ! — Then  I  suppose  even  the 
Bruce   cannot  rival   your   favorite  Washington   in  your 
esteem  ?" 
Ellen  smiled. 

Eh  ?"  said  Mr.  Lindsay. 
"  I  like  Washington  better,  sir,  of  course  ;  but  I  like  Bruce 
very  much. 

Why  do  you  prefer  Washington?'' 
"  I  should  have  to  think  to  tell  you  that,  sir." 

Very  well,  think,  and  answer  me." 
"  One  reason,  I  suppose,  is  because  he  was  an  American/* 
said  Ellen. 

"  That  is  not  reason  enough  for  so  reasonable  a  person  as 
you  are,  Ellen ;  you  must  try  again,  or  give  up  your  pre- 
ference." 

"  I  like  Bruce,  very  much  indeed,"  said  Ellen  musingly, — 
"  but  he  did  what  he  did  for  himself, — Washington  didn't." 

"  Humph  ! — I  am  not  quite  sure  as  to  either  of  your  posi- 
tions," said  Mr.  Lindsay. 

"  And  besides,"  said  Ellen,  "  Bruce  did  one  or  two  wrong 
things.    Washington  always  did  right." 

"He  did,  eh ?  What  do  you  think  of  the  murder  of 
Andre?" 

"  I  think  it  was  right,"  said  Ellen  firmly. 
"  Your  reasons,  my  little  reasoner  ?" 

"  If  it  had  not  been  right,  Washington  would  not  have 
done  it." 

"  Ha  !  ha  ! — So  at  that  rate  you  may  reconcile  yourself  to 
anything  that  chances  to  be  done  by  a  favorite." 

♦*  No  sir,' '  said  Ellen,  a  Uttle  confused,  but  standing  her 
VOL.  II.  12 


266 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


ground, — "  but  when  a  person  always  does  right,  if  he  hap- 
pen to  do  something  that  I  don't  know  enough  to  understand, 
I  have  good  reason  to  think  it  is  right,  even  though  I  cannot 
understand  it." 

"  Very  well !  but  apply  the  same  rule  of  judgment  tc  the 
Bruce,  can't  you  ?" 

"  Nothing  could  make  me  think  the  murder  of  the  Red 
Comyn  right,  sir.    Bruce  didn't  think  so  himself." 

"  But  remember,  there  is  a  great  difference  in  the  times  ; 
those  were  rude  and  uncivilized  compared  to  these ;  you  must 
make  allowance  for  that." 

Yes  sir,  I  do  ;  but  I  like  the  civilized  times  best." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  this  fellow  over  here, — what's  his 
name  ? — whose  monument  I  was  showing  you, — Nelson  !" 

"  I  used  to  like  him  very  much,  sir." 

**  And  you  do  not  now  ?" 

*'  Yes  sir,  I  do  ;  I  cannot  help  liking  him." 

"  That  is  to  say,  you  would  if  you  could  ?" 

"  I  don't  think,  sir,  I  ought  to  like  a  man  merely  for  being 
great,  unless  he  was  good.  ^Yashington  was  great  and  good 
both." 

Well  what  is  the  matter  w^ith  Nelson?"  said  Mr.  Lind- 
say, with  an  expression  of  intense  amusement ; — "  I  '  used  to 
think,'  as  you  say,  that  he  was  a  very  noble  fellow." 

"  So  he  was,  sir  ;  but  he  wasn't  a  good  man." 

«'  Why  not  ?" 

"  Why  you  know,  sir,  he  left  his  wife  ;  and  Lady  Hamil- 
ton persuaded  him  to  do  one  or  two  other  very  dishonorable 
things  ;  it  was  a  great  pity  !" 

"  So  you  will  not  like  any  great  man  that  is  not  good  as 
well.    What  is  your  definition  of  a  good  man,  Ellen  ?" 

"  One  who  always  does  right  because  it  is  right,  no  matter 
whether  it  is  convenient  or  not,"  said  Ellen,  after  a  little 
hesitation. 

"  Upon  my  word,  you  draw  the  Hne  close.  But  opinions 
often  diff"er  as  to  what  is  right ;  how  shall  we  know  ?" 

"  From  the  Bible,  sir,"  said  Ellen  quickly,  with  a  look  that 
half  amused  and  half  abashed  him. 

"  And  you,  Ellen, — are  you  yourself  good  after  this  nice 
fashion  ?" 


THE  AVIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


267 


**  No,  sir  ;  but  I  wish  to  be. 

"  I  do  believe  that.  But  after  all,  Ellen,  you  might  like 
Nelson ;  those  were  the  only  spots  in  the  sun." 

"Yes  sir  ;  but  can  a  man  be  a  truly  great  man  who  is  not 
master  of  himself?" 

"  That  is  an  excellent  remark." 

"  It  is  not  mine,  sir,"  said  Ellen  blushing  ; — "  it  was  told 
me  ;  I  did  not  find  out  all  that  about  Nelson  myself;  I  did  not 
see  it  all  the  first  time  1  read  his  life  ;  I  thought  he  was  per- 
fect." 

"  I  know  who  /  think  is,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay  kissing  her. 

They  drove  now  to  his  house  in  Georges  street.  Mr. 
Lindsay  had  some  business  to  attend  to  and  would  leave  her 
there  for  an  hour  or  two.  And  that  their  fast  might  not  be 
too  long  unbroken,  Mrs.  Allen  the  housekeeper  was  directed 
to  furnish  them  with  some  biscuits  in  the  library,  whither 
Mr.  Lindsay  led  Ellen. 

She  liked  the  looks  of  it  very  much.  Plenty  of  books  ; 
old-looking  comfortable  furniture  ;  pleasant  light ;  all  man- 
ner of  etceteras  around  which  rejoiced  Ellen's  heart.  Mr. 
Lindsay  noticed  her  pleased  glance  passing  from  one  thing  to 
another.  He  placed  her  in  a  deep  easy  chair,  took  off  her 
bonnet  and  threw  it  on  the  sofa,  and  kissing  her  fondly  asked 
her  if  she  felt  at  home.  Not  yet,"  Ellen  said ;  but  her 
look  also  said  it  would  not  take  long  to  make  her  do  so.  She 
sat  enjoying  her  rest,  and  munching  her  biscuit  with  great 
appetite  and  satisfaction,  when  Mr.  Lindsay  poured  her  out  a 
glass  of  sweet  wine. 

That  glass  of  wine  looked  to  Ellen  like  an  enemy  marching 
up  to  attack  her.  Because  Alice  and  John  did  not  drink  it, 
she  had  always,  at  first  without  other  reason,  done  the  same  ; 
and  she  was  determined  not  to  forsake  their  example  now. 
She  took  no  notice  of  the  glass  of  wine,  though  she  had 
ceased  to  see  anything  else  in  the  room,  and  went  on,  seem- 
ingly as  before,  eating  her  biscuit,  though  she  no  longer  knew 
how  they  tasted. 

"  Why  don't  you  drink  your  wine,  Ellen  ?" 

"  I  do  not  wish  any,  sir." 

"  Don't  you  like  it  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  sir ;  I  have  never  drunk  any." 
"  No  !    Taste  it  and  see." 


268 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


"  I  would  rather  not,  sir,  if  you  please.  I  don't  care  for 
it." 

"  Taste  it,  Ellen  !" 

Tliis  command  was  not  to  be  disobeyed.  The  blood  rushed 
to  Ellen's  temples  as  she  just  touched  the  glass  to  her  lips, 
and  set  it  down  again. 

"  Well  ?"  said  Mr.  Lindsay. 

"  What,  sir  ?" 
How  do  hke  it  ?" 

I  like  it  very  well,  sir,  but  I  would  rather  not  drink  it." 
"  Why  ?" 

Ellen  colored  again  at  this  exceedingly  difficult  question, 
and  answered  as  well  as  she  could,  that  she  had  never  been 
accustomed  to  it,  and  would  rather  not. 

"  It  is  of  no  sort  of  consequence  what  you  have  been  ac- 
customed to,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay.  You  are  to  drink  it  all, 
Ellen." 

Ellen  dared  not  disobey.  When  biscuits  and  wine  were 
disposed  of,  Mr.  Lindsay  drew  her  close  to  his  side  and  en- 
circling her  fondly  with  his  arms,  said, 

"  I  shall  leave  you  now  for  an  hour  or  two,  and  you  must 
amuse  yourself  as  you  can.  The  bookcases  are  open — per- 
haps you  can  find  something  there ;  or  there  are  prints  in 
those  portfolios  ;  or  you  can  go  over  the  house  and  make 
yourself  acquainted  with  your  new  home.  If  you  w^ant  any- 
thing ask  Mrs.  Allen.    Does  it  look  pleasant  to  you?" 

"  Very,"  Ellen  said. 

'*  You  are  at  home  here,  daughter  ;  go  where  you  will  and 
do  what  you  will.  I  shall  not  leave  you  long.  But  before  I 
go — Ellen — let  me  hear  you  call  me  father." 

Ellen  obeyed,  trembling,  for  it  seemed  to  her  that  it  was 
to  set  her  hand  and  seal  to  the  deed  of  ffift  her  father  and 

o 

mother  had  made.  But  there  was  no  retreat ;  it  was  spoken  ; 
and  Mr.  Lindsay  folding  her  close  in  his  arms  kissed  her  again 
and  again. 

"  Never  let  me  hear  you  call  me  anything  else,  Ellen. 
You  are  mine  own  now — my  own  child — my  own  little 
daughter.  You  shall  do  just  what  pleases  me  in  everything, 
and  let  by-gones  be  by-gones.  And  now  lie  down  there  and 
rest,  daughter,  you  are  trembling  from  head  to  foot ; — rest 
and  amuse  yourself  in  any  way  you  like  till  I  return." 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


269 


He  left  the  room. 

"  I  have  done  it  now  !"  thought  Ellen,  as  she  sat  in  the 
corner  of  the  sofa  where  Mr.  Lindsay  had  tenderly  placed 
her ; — I  have  called  him  my  father — 1  am  bound  to  obey  him 
after  this.  I  wonder  what  in  the  world  they  will  make  me 
do  next.  If  he  chooses  to  make  me  drink  wine  every  day,  I 
must  do  it ! — I  cannot  help  myself.  That  is  only  a  little 
matter.  But  what  if  they  were  to  want  me  to  do  something 
wrong? — they  might; — John  never  did — I  could  not  have 
disobeyed  him,  possibly  !— but  I  could  them,  if  it  was  neces- 
sary,— and  if  it  is  necessary,  I  will ! — I  should  have  a  dread- 
ful time — I  wonder  if  I  could  go  through  with  it.  Oh  yes, 
I  could,  if  it  was  right, — and  besides  1  w^ould  rather  bear 
anything  in  the  world  from  them  than  have  John  displeased 
with  me  ; — a  great  deal  rather  !  But  perhaps  after  all  they 
will  not  want  anything  Avrong  of  me.  I  wonder  if  this  is 
really  to  be  my  home  always,  and  if  I  shall  never  get  home 
again  ? — John  will  not  leave  me  here  ! — but  I  don't  see  how 
in  the  world  he  can  help  it,  for  my  father  and  my  mother, 
and  I  myself — I  know  what  he  would  tell  me  if  he  was  here, 
and  I'll  try  to  do  it.  God  will  take  care  of  me  if  I  follow 
him  ;  it  is  none  of  my  business." 

Simply  and  heai  tily  commending  her  interests  to  his  keep- 
ing, Ellen  tried  to  lay  aside  the  care  of  herself.  She  went 
on  musing  ;  how  very  different  and  how  much  greater  her 
enjoyment  would  have  been  that  day  if  John  had  been  with 
her.  Mr,  Lindsay,  to  be  sure,  had  answered  her  questions 
with  abundant  kindness  and  sufficient  ability ;  but  his  an- 
swers did  not,  as  those  of  her  brother  often  did,  skillfully 
draw  her  on  from  one  thing  to  another,  till  a  train  of  thought 
was  opened  which  at  the  setting  out  she  never  dreamed  of ; 
and  along  with  the  joy  of  acquiring  new  knowledge  she  had 
the  pleasure  of  discovering  new  fields  of  it  to  be  explored, 
and  the  delio-ht  of  the  felt  exercise  and  enlaro-ement  of  her  own 
powers,  which  were  sure  to  be  actively  called  into  play.  Mr. 
Lindsay  told  her  what  she  asked,  and  there  left  her.  Ellen 
found  herself  growing  melancholy  over  the  comparison  she  was 
di awing;  and  wisely  went  to  the  bookcases  to  divert  her 
thoughts.  Finding  presently  a  history  of  Scotland,  she  took 
it  down,  resolving  to  refresh  her  memory  on  a  subject  which 
had  gained  such  new  and  strange  interest  for  her.  Before 


270 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


long,  hovrever,  fatigue  and  the  wine  she  had  drunk  effectually 
got  the  better  of  studious  thoughts  ;  she  stretched  herself  on 
the  sofa  and  fell  fast  asleep. 

There  Mr.  Lindsay  found  her  a  couple  of  hours  afterwards 
under  the  guard  of  the  housekeeper. 

"  I  cam  in,  sir,"  she  said  whispering, — "  it's  mair  than  an 
hour  back,  and  she's  been  sleeping  just  like  a  babby  ever  syne  ; 
she  hasna  stirred  a  finger.  O,  Mr.  Lindsay,  it's  a  bonny  bairn, 
and  a  gude.    What  a  blessing  to  the  house  !" 

"  You're  about  right  there,  I  believe,  Maggie  ;  but  how 
have  you  learned  it  so  fast  ?" 

'*  1  canna  be  mista'en,  Mr.  George, — I  ken  it  as  weel  as  if 
we  had  had  a  year  auld  acquentance  ;  I  ken  it  by  thae  sweet 
mouth  and  cen,  and  by  the  look  she  gied  me  when  you  tauld 
her,  sir,  1  had  been  in  the  house  near  as  lang's  yoursel.  An' 
look  at  her  eenow.  There's  heaven's  peace  within,  I'm  a'maist 
assured." 

The  kiss  that  wakened  Ellen  found  her  in  the  midst  of  a 
dream.  She  thought  that  John  was  a  king  of  Scotland,  and 
standing  before  her  in  regal  attire.  She  offered  him,  she 
thought,  a  glass  of  wine,  but  raising  the  sword  of  state,  silver 
scabbard  and  all,  he  with  a  tremendous  swing  of  it  dashed 
the  glass  out  of  her  hands ;  and  then  as  she  stood  abashed, 
he  bent  forward  with  one  of  his  old  giave  kind  looks  to  kiss 
her.  As  the  kiss  touched  her  lips  Ellen  opt  ned  her  eyes,  to 
find  her  brother  transformed  into  Mr.  Lindsay,  and  the  empty 
glass  standing  safe  and  sound  upon  the  table. 

"  You  must  have  had  a  pleasant  nap,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay, 
"you  wake  up  smiling.  Come  —  make  haste — I  have  left  a 
friend  in  the  carriage. — Bring  your  book  along  if  you  Avant  it." 

The  presence  of  the  stranger,  who  was  going  down  to 
spend  a  day  or  two  at  "the  liraes,"  prevented  Ellen  from 
having  any  talking  to  do.  Comfortably  placed  in  the  corner 
of  the  front  seat  of  the  barouche,  leaning  on  the  elbow  of  the 
cai-riage,  she  was  left  to  her  own  musings.  She  could  hardly 
realize  the  change  in  her  circumstances.  The  carriage  rolling 
fast  and  smoothly  on — the  two  gentlemen  opposite  to  her, 
one  her  father ! — the  strange,  varit  d,  beautiful  scenes  they 
were  flitting  by, — the  long  shadows  made  by  the  descending 
Bun, — the  cool  evening  air, — Ellen,  leaning  back  in  the  wide 
easy  seat,  felt  as  if  she  were  in  a  dream.    It  was  singularly 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


271 


pleasant ;  sbe  could  not  help  but  enjoy  it  all  very  much ;  and 
yet  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  were  cauglit  in  a  net  from  which 
she  had  no  power  to  get  free ;  and  she  longed  to  clasp  that 
hand  that  could  she  thought  draw  her  whence  and  whither 
it  pleased.  "  But  Mr.  Lindsay  opposite  ? — I  have  called  him 
my  father — I  have  given  myself  to  him,"  sbe  thought ; — 
"but  I  gare  myself  to  somebody  else  first; — I  can't  undo 
that — and  I  never  will !"  Again  she  tried  to  be  quiet  and 
resign  the  care  of  herself  to  better  wisdom  and  greater 
strength  than  her  own.  "  This  may  all  be  arranged,  easily, 
in  some  way  I  could  never  dream  of,"  she  said  to  herself ; 
"  I  have  no  business  to  be  uneasy.  Two  months  ago,  and  I 
was  quietly  at  home  and  seemed  to  be  fixed  there  for  ever ; 
and  novt^,  and  without  anything  extraordinary  happening, 
here  I  am, — just  as  fixed.  Yes,  and  before  that,  at  aunt  For- 
tune's,— it  didn't  seem  possible  that  I  could  ever  get  away 
from  being  her  child  ;  and  yet  how  easily  all  that  was  man- 
aged. And  just  so,  in  some  way  that  I  cannot  imagine, 
things  may  open  so  as  to  let  me  out  smoothly  from  this." 
She  resolved  to  be  patient,  and  take  thankfully  what  she  at 
present  had  to  enjoy  ;  and  in  this  mood  of  mind,  the  drive 
home  was  beautiful ;  and  the  evening  was  happily  absorbed 
in  the  history  of  Scotland. 

It  was  a  grave  question  in  the  family  that  same  evening 
whether  Ellen  should  be  sent  to  school.  Lady  Keith  was 
decided  in  favor  of  it:  her  -nother  seemed  doubtful;  Mr. 
Lindsay,  who  had  a  vision  of  the  little  figure  lying  asleep  on 
his  library  sofa,  thought  the  room  had  never  looked  so  cheer- 
ful before,  and  had  near  made  up  his  mind  that  she  should  be 
its  constant  adornment  the  coming  winter.  Lady  Keith  urged 
the  school  plan. 

"  Not  a  boarding-school,"  said  Mrs.  Lindsay  ; — "  I  will  not 
hear  of  that." 

"  No,  but  a  day-school ;  it  would  do  her  a  vast  deal  of 
good  I  am  certain  ;  her  notions  want  shaking  up  very  much. 
And  T  never  saw  a  child  of  her  age  so  much  a  child." 

"  1  assure  you  /  never  saw  one  so  much  a  woman.  She 
has  asked  me  to-day,  I  suppose,"  said  he  smiling,  "  a  hundred 
questions  or  less ;  and  I  assure  you  there  was  not  one  foolish 
or  vain  one  among  them  ;  not  one  that  was  not  sensible,  and 
most  of  them  singularly  so." 


272 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


"  She  was  greatly  pleased  with  her  day,"  said  Mrs.  Lind* 
say. 

"  I  never  saw  such  a  baby  face  in  my  life,"  said  Lady 
Keith, — "  in  a  child  of  her  years." 

"  It  is  a  face  of  uncommon  intelligence !"  said  her  brotler. 
"It  is  both,"  said  Mrs.  Lindsay. 

"  I  was  struck  with  it  the  other  day,"  said  Lady  Keith, — 
"  the  day  she  slept  so  long  upon  the  sofa  up  stairs  after  she 
was  dressed  ;  she  had  been  crying  about  something,  and  her 
eyelashes  were  wet  still,  and  she  had  that  curious  grave  inno- 
cent look  you  only  see  in  infants  ;  you  might  have  thought 
she  was  fourteen  months  instead  of  fourteen  years  old ;  four- 
teen and  a  half,  she  says  she  is." 

"Crying?"  said  Mr.  Lindsay; — "what  was  the  matter?" 

"  Nothing,"  said  Mrs.  Lindsay,  "  but  that  she  had  been 
obliged  to  submit  to  me  in  something  that  did  not  please  her." 

"  Did  she  give  you  any  cause  of  displeasure  ?" 

"  No, — though  I  can  see  she  has  strong  passions.  But 
she  is  the  first  child  I  ever  saw  that  I  think  I  could  not  get 
angry  with." 

"  Mother's  heart  half  misgave  her,  I  beheve,"  said  Lady 
Keith  laughing  ; — "  she  sat  there  looking  at  her  for  an  hour." 

"  She  seems  to  me  perfectly  gentle  and  submissive,"  said 
Mr.  Lindsay. 

"  Yes,  but  don't  trust  too  much  to  appearances,"  said  his 
sister.  "  If  she  is  not  a  true  Lindsay  after  all  1  am  mistaken. 
Did  you  see  her  color  once  or  twice  this  morning  when  some- 
thing was  said  that  did  not  please  her?" 

"  You  can  judge  nothing  from  that,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay, — 
"  she  colors  at  everything.  You  should  have  seen  her  to-day 
when  I  told  her  I  would  take  her  to  Bannockburn." 

"  Ah  she  has  got  ihe  right  side  of  you,  brother;  you  will 
be  able  to  discern  no  faults  in  her  presently." 

"  She  has  used  no  arts  for  it,  sister ;  she  is  a  straight- 
forward little  hussy,  and  that  is  one  thing  I  like  about  her ; 
though  1  was  as  near  as  possible  being  provoked  wnth  her 
once  or  twice  to-day.  There  is  only  one  tiling  I  wish  was 
altered, — she  has  her  head  filled  with  strange  notions— absurd 
for  a  child  of  her  age — I  don't  know  what  I  shall  do  to  get 
rid  of  them." 

After  some  more  conversation  it  was  decided  that  school 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


273 


would  be  the  best  thing  for  this  end,  and  half  decided  that 
Ellen  should  go. 

But  this  half  decision  Mr.  Lindsay  found  it  very  difficult  to 
keep  to,  and  circumstances  soon  destroyed  it  entirely.  Com- 
pany was  constantly  coming  and  going  at  "  the  Braes,"  and 
much  of  it  of  a  kind  that  Ellen  exceedingly  liked  to  see  and 
hear ;  inteUigent,  cultivated,  well-informed  people,  whose 
conversation  was  highly  agreeable  and  always  useful  to  her. 
Ellen  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  talking,  so  she  made  good 
use  of  her  ears. 

One  evening  Mr.  Lindsay,  a  M.  Villars,  and  M.  Muller,  a 
Swiss  gentleman  and  a  noted  man  of  science,  very  much  at 
home  in  Mr.  Lindsay's  house,  were  carrying  on,  in  French,  a 
conversation  in  which  the  two  foreigners  took  part  against 
their  host.  M.  Villars  began  wnth  talking  about  Lafayette  ; 
from  him  they  went  to  the  American  Revolution,  and  Wash- 
ington, and  from  them  to  other  patriots  and  other  republics, 
ancient  and  modern  ; — MM.  Villars  and  Muller  taking  the 
side  of  freedom  and  pressing  Mr.  Lindsay  hard  with  argu- 
ment, authority,  example,  and  historical  testimony.  Ellen 
as  usual  w^as  fast  by  his  side,  and  delighted  to  see  that 
he  could  by  no  means  make  good  his  ground.  The  ladies  at 
the  other  end  of  the  room  would  several  times  have  drawn 
her  away,  but  happily  for  her,  and  also  as  usual,  Mr.  Lind- 
say's arm  was  arourld  her  shoulders,  and  she  was  left  in  quiet 
to  listen.  The  conversation  was  very  lively,  and  on  a  subject 
very  interesting  to  her ;  for  America  had  been  always  a 
darhng  theme  ;  Scottish  struggles  for  freedom  were  fresh  in 
her  mind  ;  her  attention  had  long  ago  been  called  to  Switzer- 
land and  its  history  by  Alice  and  Mrs.  Vawse,  and  French 
history  had  formed  a  good  part  of  her  last  winter's  reading. 
She  listened  with  the  most  eager  delight,  too  much  engrossed 
to  notice  the  good-humored  glances  that  were  every  now  and 
then  given  her  by  one  of  the  s.peakers.  Not  Mr.  Lindsay ; — 
though  his  hand  w^as  upon  her  shoulder  or  playing  with  the 
light  curls  that  fell  over  her  temples,  he  did  not  see  that  her 
face  was  flushed  with  interest,  or  notice  the  quick  smile  and 
sparkle  of  the  eye  that  followed  every  turn  in  the  conversation 
that  favored  her  wishes  or  foiled  his ; — it  was  M.  Muller. 
They  came  to  the  Swiss,  and  their  famous  struggle  for  free- 
dom against  Austrian  oppression.  M.  Muller  wished  to  speak 
12* 


274 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


of  the  noted  battle  in  which  that  freedom  was  made  sure,  but 
for  the  moment  its  name  had  escaped  him. 

"  Par  ma  foi,"  said  M.  Villars, — "  il  m'a  entierement 
passe  !" 

Mr.  Lindsay  could  not  or  would  not  help  him  out.  But 
M.  Muller  suddenh'  turned  to  Ellen,  in  whose  face  he  thought 
he  saw  a  look  of  intelligence,  and  begged  of  her  the  missing 
name." 

"  Est-ce  jNIorgarten,  monsieur  ?"  said  Ellen  blushing. 

"  Morgarten  !  c'est  ga  !"  said  he,  with  a  polite,  pleased 
bow  of  thanks.  Mr.  Lindsay  was  little  less  astonished  than 
the  Duke  of  Argyle  when  his  gardener  claimed  to  be  the 
owner  of  a  Latin  work  on  mathematics. 

The  conversation  presently  took  a  new  turn  with  M.  Villars  ; 
and  M.  Muller  withdrawing  from  it  addressed  himself  to 
Ellen.  He  was  a  pleasant-looking  elderly  gentleman ;  she 
had  never  seen  him  before  that  evening. 

"  You  know  French  well  then  ?"  said  he,  speaking  to  her 
in  that  tongue. 

"  1  don't  know,  sir,"  said  Ellen  modestly. 

"  And  you  have  heard  of  the  Swiss  mountaineers  ?" 

*'  0  yes,  sir  ;  a  great  deal." 

He  opened  his  watch  and  showed  her  in  the  back  of  it  an 
exquisite  little  painting,  asking  her  if  she  knew  what  it  was. 

'*  It  is  an  Alpine  chPdet,  is  it  not,  sir?" 

He  was  pleased,  and  went  on,  always  in  French,  to  tell 
Ellen  that  Switzerland  was  his  country  ;  and  drawing  a  little 
aside  from  the  other  talkers,  he  entered  into  a  long  and  to  her 
most  delightful  conversation.  In  the  pleasantest  manner  he 
gave  her  a  vast  deal  of  very  entertaining  detail  about  the  coun- 
try and  the  manners  and  habits  of  the  people  of  the  Alps, 
especially  in  the  Tyrol,  w^here  he  had  often  traveled.  It 
would  have  been  hard  to  tell  whether  the  child  had  most 
pleasure  in  receiving,  or  the  man  of  deep  study  and  science 
most  pleasure  in  giving,  all  manner  of  information.  He  saw, 
he  said,  that  she  was  very  fond  of  the  heroes  of  freedom,  and 
asked  if  she  had  ever  heard  of  Andrew  Hofer,  the  Tyrolese 
peasant,  who  led  on  his  brethren  in  their  noble  endeavors  to 
rid  themselves  of  French  and  Bavarian  oppression.  Ellen 
had  never  heard  of  him. 

"  You  know  V/illiam  Tell  ?" 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


275 


'*  Oh  yes,"  Ellen  said, — she  kneAV  him. 
"  And  Bonaparte  ?" 
**  Yes,  very  well," 

He  went  on  then  to  give  her  in  a  very  interesting  way  the 
history  of  Hofer ; — how  when  Napoleon  made  over  his  coun- 
try to  the  rule  of  the  King  of  Bavaria,  who  oppressed  them, 
they  rose  in  mass ;  overcame  army  after  army  that  were  sent 
against  them  in  their  mountain  fastnesses,  and  freed  them- 
selves from  the  hated  Bavarian  government ;  how  years  after 
Napoleon  was  at  last  too  strong  for  them ;  Hofer  and  his 
companions  defeated,  hunted  like  wild  beasts,  shot  down  hke 
them ;  how  Hofer  was  at  last  betrayed  by  a  friend,  taken, 
and  executed,  being  only  seen  to  weep  at  parting  with  his 
family.  The  beautiful  story  was  well  told,  and  the  speaker 
was  animated  by  the  eager  deep  attention  and  sympathy  of 
his  auditor,  whose  changing  color,  smiles,  and  even  tears, 
showed  how  well  she  entered  into  the  feelings  of  the  patriots 
in  their  struggle,  triumph,  and  downfall ;  till  as  he  finished 
she  was  left  full  of  pity  for  them  and  hatred  of  Napoleon. 
They  talked  of  the  Alps  again.  M.  Muller  put  his  hand  in  his 
pocket  and  pulled  out  a  little  painting  in  mosaic  to  show  her, 
which  he  said  had  been  given  him  that  day.  It  was  a  beau- 
tiful piece  of  pietra  dura  work — Mont  Blanc.  He  assured 
her  the  mountain  often  looked  exactly  so.  Ellen  admired  it 
very  much.  It  was  meant  to  be  set  for  a  brooch  or  some 
such  thing,  he  said,  and  he  asked  if  she  would  keep  it  and 
sometimes  wear  it,  "  to  remember  the  Swiss,  and  to  do  him  a 
pleasure." 

"  Moi,  monsieur!"  said  Ellen,  coloring  high  with  surprise 
and  pleasure, — "  je  suis  bien  obhgee — mais,  monsieur,  je  ne 
saurais  vous  remercier !" 

He  would  count  himself  well  paid,  he  said,  with  a  single 
touch  of  her  lips. 

"  Tenez,  monsieur !"  said  Ellen,  blushing,  but  smiling,  and 
tendering  back  the  mosaic. 

He  laughed  and  bowed  and  begged  her  pardon,  and  said 
she  must  keep  it  to  assure  him  she  had  forgiven  him ;  and 
then  he  asked  by  what  name  he  might  remember  her. 

"  Monsieur,  je  m'  appelle  Ellen  M  " 

She  stopped  short,  in  utter  and  blank  uncertainty  what  to 


276 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


call  herself ;  Montgomery  she  dared  not ;  Lindsay  stuck  in 
her  throat. 

"  Have  you  forgotten  it  ?"  said  M.  Muller,  amused  at  her 
look,  "  or  is  it  a  secret?'' 

"  Tell  M.  Muller  your  name,  Ellen,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay, 
turning  round  from  a  group  wliere  he  was  standing  at  a 
little  distance.  The  tone  was  stern  and  displeased.  Ellen 
felt  it  keenly,  and  with  difficulty  and  some  hesitation  still, 
murmured, 

"  Ellen  Lindsay." 

*'  Lindsay  ?  Are  you  the  daughter  of  my  friend  Mr. 
Lindsay?" 

Again  Ellen  hesitated,  in  great  doubt  how  to  answer,  but 
finally,  not  without  starting  tears,  said, 
"  Oui,  Monsieur," 

"  Your  memory  is  bad  to  night,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  in  her 
ear, — "  you  had  better  go  where  you  can  refresh  it." 

Ellen  took  this  as  a  hint  to  leave  the  room,  which  she 
did  immediately,  not  a  little  hurt  at  the  displeasure  she  did 
not  think  she  had  deserved  ;  she  loved  Mr.  Lindsay  the  best 
of  all  her  relations,  and  really  loved  him.  She  went  to  bed 
and  to  sleep  again  that  night  with  wet  eyelashes. 

Meanwhile  M.  Muller  was  gratifying  Mr.  Lindsay  in  a  high 
degree  by  the  praises  he  bestowed  upon  his  daughter, — her  in- 
telligence, her  manners,  her  modesty,  and  her  French.  He 
-asked  if  she  was  to  be  in  Edinburgh  thatAvinter,  and  whether 
she  would  be  at  school  ;  and  Mr.  Lindsay  declaring  himself 
undecided  on  the  latter  point,  M.  Muller  said  he  should  be 
pleased,  if  she  had  leisure,  to  have  her  come  to  his  rooms  two 
or  three  times  a  week  to  read  with  him.  This  offer,  from  a 
person  of  M.  MuUer's  standing  and  studious  habits,  Mr.  Lind- 
say justly  took  as  both  a  great  compliment  and  a  great 
promise  of  advantage  to  Ellen.  He  at  once  and  wi^h  much 
pleasure  accepted  it.    So  the  question  of  school  was  settled. 

Ellen  resolved  the  next  morning  to  lose  no  time  in  making 
up  her  difference  with  Mr.  Lindsay,  and  schooled  herself  to 
use  a  form  of  words  that  she  thought  would  please  him. 
Pride  said  indeed,  "  Do  no  such  thing  ;  don't  go  to  making 
acknowledgements  when  you  have  not  been  in  the  wrong  ;  you 
are  not  bound  to  humble  yourself  before  unjust  displeasure." 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


277 


Pride  pleaded  powerfully.  But  neither  Ellen's  heart  nor  her 
conscience  would  permit  her  to  take  this  advice.  "  He  loves 
me  very  much,"  she  thought, — "  and  perhaps  he  did  not  un- 
derstand me  last  night ;  and  besides,  I  owe  him — yes,  1  do  ! 
— a  child's  obedience  now.  I  ought  not  to  leave  him  dis- 
pleased with  me  a  moment  longer  than  I  can  help.  And 
besides  I  couldn't  be  happy  so.  God  gives  grace  to  the 
humble — I  will  humble  myself." 

To  have  a  chance  for  executing  this  determination  she  went 
down  stairs  a  good  deal  earlier  than  usual ;  she  knew  Mr. 
Lindsay  was  generally  there  before  the  rest  of  the  family,  and 
she  hoped  to  see  him  alone.  It  was  too  soon  even  for  him, 
however ;  the  rooms  were  empty ;  so  Ellen  took  her  book 
from  the  table,  and  being  perfectly  at  peace  with  herself,  sat 
down  in  the  window  and  was  presently  lost  in  the  interest  of 
what  she  w^as  reading.  She  did  not  know  of  Mr.  Lindsay's 
approach  till  a  little  imperative  tap  on  her  shoulder  startled 
her. 

What  were  you  thinking  of  last  night  ?  what  made  you 
answer  M.  Muller  in  the  way  you  did?" 

Ellen  started  up,  but  to  utter  her  prepared  speech  was  no 
longer  possible. 

"  I  did  not  know  what  to  say,"  she  said,  looking  down. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  said  he  angrily.  "  Didn't 
you  know  what  I  wished  you  to  say  ?" 

"  Yes — but — Do  not  speak  to  me  in  that  way  !"  exclaimed 
Ellen,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands.  Pride  struggled  to 
keep  back  the  tears  that  wanted  to  flow. 

I  shall  choose  my  own  method  of  speaking.  Why  did 
you  not  say  what  you  knew  I  wished  you  to  say  ?" 

"  I  was  afraid — I  didn't  know — but  he  would  think  what 
wasn't  true." 

"  That  is  precisely  what  I  wish  him  and  all  the  world  to 
think.  I  will  have  no  difference  made,  Ellen,  either  by  them 
or  you.  Now  lift  up  your  head  and  listen  to  me,"  said  he, 
taking  both  her  hands, —  "I  lay  my  comrhands  upon  you, 
whenever  the  like  questions  may  be  asked  again,  that  you 
answer  simply  according  to  what  I  have  told  you,  without 
any  explanation  or  addition.  It  is  true,  and  if  people  draw 
conclusions  that  are  not  true,  it  is  what  I  wish.  Do  you  un« 
derstand  me  ?" 


278 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


Ellen  bowed. 

*'  Will  you  obey  me?" 

She  answered  again  in  the  same  mute  way. 
He  ceased  to  hold  her  at  arm's  length,  and  sitting  down  in 
her  chair  drew  her  close  to  him,  saying  more  kindly, 
"  You  must  not  displease  me,  Ellen," 

"  I  had  no  tiiought  of  displeasing  you,  sir,"  said  Ellen 
bursting  into  tears, — "  and  1  was  very  soiTy  for  it  last  night. 
I  did  not  mean  to  disobey  you — I  only  hesitated  " — 

"  Hesitate  no  more.  My  commands  may  serve  to  remove 
the  cause  of  it.  You  are  my  daughter,  Ellen,  and  I  am  your 
father.  Poor  child  !"  said  he,  for  Ellen  was  violently  agitated, 
— "  I  don't  believe  I  shall  have  much  difficulty  with  you." 

"  If  you  will  only  not  speak  and  look  at  me  so,"  said 
Ellen, — "  it  makes  me  very  unhappy  " — 

"  Hush  !"  said  he  kissing-  her  ; — "  do  not  give  me  occasion." 

"I  did  not  give  you  occasion,  sir?" 

"  Why  Ellen  !"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  half  displeased  again, — 
I  shall  begin  to  think  your  aunt  Keith  is  right,  that  you  are 
a  true  Lindsay.    But  so  am  I, — and  I  will  have  only 
obedience  from  you — without    eith.er  answering  or  argu- 
menting," 

"  You  shall,"  murmured  Ellen.  "  But  do  not  be  displeas- 
ed with  me,  father." 

Ellen  had  schooled  herself  to  say  that  word  ;  she  knew  it 
would  greatly  please  him  ;  and  she  was  not  mistaken  ;  though 
it  was  spoken  so  low  that  his  ears  could  but  just  catch  it. 
Displeasure  was  entirely  overcome.  He  pressed  her  to  his 
heart,  kis>ing  her  with  great  tenderness,  and  would  not  let 
her  go  from  his  arms  till  he  had  seen  her  smile  again  ;  and 
during  all  the  day  he  was  not  willing  to  have  her  out  of  his 
sight. 

It  would  have  been  easy  that  morning  for  Ellen  to  have 
made  a  breach  between  them  that  would  not  readily  have 
been  healed.  One  word  of  humility  had  prevented  it  all, 
and  fastened  her  more  firmly  than  ever  in  Mr.  Lindsay's 
affection.  She  met  with  nothing  from  him  but  tokens  of 
great  and  tender  fondness ;  and  Lady  Keith  told  her  mother 
apart  that  there  would  be  no  doing  anything  with  George  ; 
she  saw  he  was  getting  bewitched  with  that  child. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 


My  heart  is  sair,  I  dare  nae  tell, 
My  heart  is  sair  for  somebody  : 
I  could,  wake  a  winter  night 
For  the  sake  of  somebody. 
Oh-hon  !  for  somebody  I 
Oh  hey  !  for  somebody  I 
I  wad  do — what  wad  I  not, 
For  the  sake  of  somebody. 

Old  Song. 

In  a  few  weeks  they  moved  to  Edinburgh,  where  arrange- 
ments were  speedily  made  for  giving  Ellen  every  means  of 
improvement  that  masters  and  mistresses,  books  and  instru- 
ments, could  afford. 

'1  he  house  in  Georges  street  was  large  and  pleasant.  To 
Ellen's  great  joy,  a  pretty  little  room  opening  from  the  first 
landing-place  of  the  private  staircase  was  assigned  for  her 
special  use  as  a  study  and  work-room  ;  and  fitted  up  nicely 
for  her  with  a  small  book-case,  a  practising  piano,  and  various 
etceteras.  Here  her  beloved  desk  took  its  place  on  a  table  in 
the  middle  of  the  floor,  where  Ellen  thought  she  would  make 
many  a  new  drawing  when  she  was  by  herself.  Her  work- 
box  was  accommodated  with  a  smaller  stand  near  the  window. 
A  glass  door  at  one  end  of  the  room  opened  upon  a  small 
iron  balcony  ;  this  door  and  balcony  Ellen  esteemed  a  very 
particular  treasure.  With  marvelous  satisfaction  she  arranged 
and  arranged  her  little  sanctum  till  she  had  all  things  to  her 
mind,  and  it  only  wanted,  she  thought,  a  glass  of  flowers.  "  I 
will  have  that  too  some  of  these  days,"  she  said  to  herself ; 
and  resolved  to  deserve  her  pretty  room  by  being  very  busy 
there.  It  was  hers  alone,  open  indeed  to  her  friends  when 
they  chose  to  keep  her  company  ;  but  lessons  were  taken 
elsewhere  ;  in  the  library,  or  the  music-room,  or  more  fre- 
quently her  grandmother's  dressing-room.  Wherever,  or 
whatever,  Mrs.  Lindsay  or  l  ady  Keith  was  always  present. 


2S0 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


Ellen  was  the  plaything,  pride,  and  delight,  of  the  whole 
family.  Not  so  much  however  Lady  Keith's  plaything  as 
her  pride  ;  while  pride  had  a  less  share  in  the  affection  of  the 
other  two,  or  rather  perhaps  was  more  overtopped  by  it. 
Ellen  felt  however  that  all  their  hearts  were  set  upon  her,  felt 
it  gratefully,  and  determined  she  would  give  them  all  the 
pleasure  she  possibly  ccii.d.  Her  love  for  other  friends,  friends 
that  they  knew  nothing  of,  American  friends,  was,  she  knew, 
the  sore  point  with  them  ;  she  resolved  not  to  speak  of  those 
friends,  nor  allude  to  them,  especially  in  any  way  that  should 
show  how  much  of  her  heart  was  out  of  Scotland.  But  this 
wise  resolution  it  was  very  hard  for  poor  Ellen  to  keep.  She 
was  unaccustomed  to  concealments  ;  and  in  ways  that  she 
could  neither  foresee  nor  prevent,  the  unwelcome  truth  would 
come  up,  and  the  sore  was  not  healed. 

One  day  Ellen  had  a  headache  and  was  sent  to  lie  down. 
Alone,  and  quietly  stretched  on  her  bed,  very  naturally  Ellen's 
thoughts  went  back  to  the  last  time  she  had  had  a  headache, 
at  home,  as  she  always  called  it  to  herself.  She  recalled 
with  a  straitened  heai  t  the  gentle  and  tender  manner  of  John's 
care  for  her ;  how  nicely  he  had  placed  her  on  the  sofa ;  how 
he  sat  by  her  side  bathing  her  temples,  or  laying  his  cool 
hand  on  her  forehead,  and  once,  she  remembered,  his  lips. 
"  I  wonder,"  thought  Ellen,  "  what  I  ever  did  to  make  him 
love  me  so  much,  as  I  know  he  does  ?"  She  remembered  how, 
when  she  was  able  to  listen,  he  still  sat  beside  her,  talking 
such  sweet  words  of  kindness  and  comfort  and  amusement, 
that  she  almost  loved  to  be  sick  to  have  such  tending,  and 
looked  up  at  him  as  at  an  angel.  She  felt  it  all  over  again. 
Unfortunately,  after  she  had  fallen  asleep,  Mrs.  Lindsay  came 
in  to  see  how  she  was,  and  two  tears,  the  last  pair  of  them, 
were  slowly  making  their  way  down  her  cheeks.  Her  grand- 
mother saw  them,  and  did  not  rest  till  she  knew  the  cause. 
Ellen  was  extremely  sorry  to  tell,  she  did  her  best  to  get  off 
from  it,  but  she  did  not  know  how  to  evade  questions  ;  and 
those  that  were  put  to  her  indeed  admitted  of  no  evasion. 

A  few  days  later,  just  after  they  came  to  Edinburgh,  it  was 
remarked  one  morning  at  breakfast  that  Ellen  was  very 
straight  and  carried  herself  well. 

"It  is  no  thanks  to  me,"  said  Ellen  smiling, — "they  never 
would  let  me  hold  myself  ill." 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


281 


"Who  is  '  they  ?'  "  said  Lady  Keith. 
*'  My  brother  and  sister." 

"  I  wish,  George,"  said  Lady  Keith  discontentedly,  "  that 
you  would  lay  your  commands  upon  Ellen  to  use  that  form  oi 
expression  no  more.    My  ears  are  absolutely  sick  of  it." 

"  You  do  not  hear  it  very  often,  aunt  Keith,"  Ellen  could 
not  help  saying, 

"  Quite  often  enough  ;  and  I  know  it  is  upon  your  lips  a 
thousand  times  when,  you  do  not  speak  it." 

"  And  if  Ellen  does,  we  do  not,"  said  Mrs.  Lindsay,  "wish 
to  claim  kindred  with  all  the  world. 

"  How  came  you  take  up  such  an  absurd  habit  ?"  said  Lady 
Keith.    "  It  isn't  like  you." 

"  They  took  it  up  first,"  said  Ellen ; — I  was  too  glad — " 

"  Yes,  I  dare  sa}"  they  had  their  reasons  for  taking  it  up," 
said  her  aunt; — "they  had  acted  from  interested  motives  I 
have  no  doubt ;  people  always  do." 

"  You  are  very  much  mistaken,  aunt  Keith,"  said  Ellen, 
with  uncontrollable  feeling  ; — "  you  do  not  in  the  least  know 
what  you  are  talking  about !" 

Instantly,  Mr.  Lindsay's  fingers  tapped  her  lips.  Ellen 
colored  painfully,  but  after  an  instant's  hesitation  she  said, 

"  1  beg  your  pardon,  aunt  Keith,  I  should  not  have  said 
that." 

"  Very  well !"  said  Mr.  Lindsay.  "  But  understand,  Ellen, 
however  you  may  have  taken  it  up, — this  habit, — you  will 
lay  it  down  for  the  future.  Let  us  hear  no  more  of  brothers 
and  sisters.  I  cannot,  as  your  grandmother  says,  fraternize 
with  all  the  world,  especially  with  unknown  relations." 

"I  am  very  glad  you  have  made  that  regulation,"  said 
Mrs.  Lindsay. 

"  I  cannot  conceive  how  Ellen  has  got  such  a  way  of  it," 
said  Lady  Keith. 

"  It  is  very  natural,"  said  Ellen,  with  some  huskiness  of 
voice,  "  that  1  should  say  so,  because  I  feel  so.'' 

"You  do  not  mean  to  say,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  "  that  this 
Mr.  and  Miss  Somebody — these  people — I  don't  know  their 
names — " 

"  There  is  only  one  now,  sir." 

"  This  person  you  call  your  brother — do  you  mean  to  say 
you  have  the  same  regard  for  him  as  if  he  had  been  born  so  ?" 


282 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


"  No,"  said  Ellen,  cheek  and  eye  suddenly  firing, — "but  a 
thousand  times  more !" 

She  was  exceeding  sorry  the  next  minute  after  she  had  said 
this  ;  for  she  knew  it  had  given  both  pain  and  displeasure  in 
a  great  degree.  No  answer  was  made.  Ellen  dared  not  look 
at  anybody,  and  needed  not ;  she  wished  the  silence  might  be 
broken  ;  but  nothing  was  heard  except  a  low  "  whew  !"  from 
Mr.  Lindsay,  till  he  rose  up  and  left  the  room.  Ellen  was 
sure  he  was  very  much  displeased.  Even  the  ladies  were  too 
much  offended  to  speak  on  the  subject ;  and  she  was  merely 
bade  to  go  to  her  room.  She  went  there,  and  sitting  down 
on  the  floor  covered  her  face  with  her  hands.  "What  shall 
1  do  ?  what  shall  1  do  ?"  she  said  to  herself.  "  I  never  shall 
govern  this  tongue  of  mine.  Oh  I  wish  I  had  not  said  that ! 
they  will  never  forget  it.  "What  can  I  do  to  make  them 
pleased  with  me  again  ? — Shall  I  go  to  my  father's  study  and 
beg  him — but  I  can't  ask  him  to  forgive  me — I  haven't  done 
wrong — I  can't  unsay  what  I  said.  I  can  do  nothing, — I  can 
only  go  in  the  way  of  my  duty  and  do  the  best  I  can, — and 
maybe  they  will  come  round  again.    But  oh  dear !" — 

A  flood  of  tears  followed  this  resolution. 

Ellen  kept  it ;  she  tried  to  be  blameless  in  all  her  work 
and  behaviour,  but  she  sorrowfully  felt  that  her  friends  did 
not  forgive  her.  There  was  a  cool  air  of  displeasure  about 
all  they  said  and  did  ;  the  hand  of  fondness  was  not  laid  upon 
her  shoulder,  she  was  not  wrapped  in  loving  arms,  as  she 
used  to  be  a  dozen  times  a  day ;  no  kisses  fell  on  her  brow  or 
lips.  Ellen  felt  it,  more  from  Mr.  Lindsay  than  both  the 
others  ;  her  spirits  sunk ;— she  had  been  forbidden  to  speak 
of  her  absent  friends,  but  that  was  not  the  way  to  make  her 
forget  them  ;  and  there  was  scarce  a  minute  in  the  day  when 
her  brother  was  not  present  to  her  thoughts. 

Sunday  came  ;  her  first  Sunday  in  Edinburgh.  All  went 
to  church  in  the  morning ;  in  the  afternoon  Ellen  found  that 
nobody  was  going  ;  her  grandmother  was  lying  down.  She 
asked  permission  to  go  alone. 

"  Do  you  want  to  go  because  you  think  you  must  ?  or  for 
pleasure  ?"  said  Mrs.  Lindsay. 

"  For  pleasure  !"  said  Ellen's  tongue  and  her  opening  eyes 
at  the  same  time. 

"  You  may  go." 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


283 


With  eager  delight  Ellen  got  ready,  and  was  hastening 
along  the  hall  to  the  door,  when  she  met  Mr.  Lindsay. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?" 
To  church,  sir," 

"Alone?  What  do  want  to  go  for?  No,  no,  I  sha'n't 
kt  you.  Come  in  here — I  want  you  with  me  ; — you  have 
been  once  to-day,  already,  haven't  you  ?  You  do  not  want 
to  go  again  ?" 

"  I  do  indeed,  sir,  very  much,"  said  Ellen,  as  she  reluc- 
tantly followed  him  into  the  library, — "if  you  have  no  objec- 
tion.   You  know  I  have  not  seen  Edinburgh  yet." 

"  Edinburgh  !  that's  true,  so  you  haven't,"  said  he,  look- 
ing at  her  discomfited  face.  "  Well  go,  if  you  want  to  go  so 
much." 

Ellen  got  as  far  as  the  hall  door,  no  further ;  she  rushed 
back  to  the  library. 

"  T  did  not  say  right  when  I  said  that,"  she  burst  forth ; — 
*'  that  was  not  the  reason  I  wanted  to  go. — I  will  stay,  if  you 
wish  me,  sir." 

"  I  don't  wish  it,"  said  he  in  surprise  ; — "  I  don't  know 
what  you  mean — I  am  willing  you  should  go  if  you  like  it. 
Away  with  you  1  it  is  time." 

Once  moi-e  Ellen  set  out,  but  this  time  with  a  heart  full  ; 
much  too  full  to  think  of  anything  she  saw  by  the  way.  It 
was  with  a  singular  feeling  of  pleasure  that  she  entered  the 
church  alone.  It  was  a  strange  church  to  her,  never  seen  but 
once  before,  and  as  she  softly  passed  up  the  broad  aisle  she 
saw  nothing  in  the  building  or  the  people  around  her  that 
was  not  strange, — no  familiar  face,  nor  familiar  thing.  But 
it  was  a  church,  and  she  was  alone,  quite  alone  in  the  midst 
of  that  crowd  ;  and  she  went  up  to  the  empty  pew  and  en- 
sconced herself  in  the  far  corner  of  it,  with  a  curious  feeling 
of  quiet  and  of  being  at  home.  She  was  no  sooner  seated, 
however,  than  leaning  forward  as  much  as  possible  to  screen 
herself  from  observation,  bending  her  head  upon  her  knees,  she 
burst  into  an  agony  of  tears.  It  was  a  great  relief  to  be 
able  to  weep  freely  ;  at  home  she  was  afraid  of  being  seen  or 
heard  or  questioned  ;  now  she  was  alone  and  free,  and  she 
poured  out  her  very  heart  in  weeping  that  she  with  difficulty 
kept  from  being  loud  weeping. 

"Oh  how  could  I  say  that!  how  could  I  say  that!  Oh 


284 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


what  would  John  have  thought  of  me  if  he  had  lieard  it ! — • 
Am  I  beginning  ah-eady  to  lose  my  truth  ?  am  I  going 
backward  already  !  0  what  shall  I  do  !  what  will  become  of 
me  if  I  do  not  watch  over  myself — there  is  no  one  to  help  me 
or  lead  me  right — not  a  single  one — all  to  lead  me  wrong ! 
what  will  become  of  me  ? — But  there  is  One  who  has  pro- 
mised to  keep  those  that  follow  him — he  is  sufficient,  without 
any  others — I  have  not  kept  near  enough  to  him  !  that  is  it ; 
—  I  have  not  remembered  nor  loved  him — '  If  ye  love  me, 
keep  my  commandments,' — I  have  not !  I  have  not !  Oh 
but  I  will  ! — I  will ;  and  he  will  be  with  me,  and  help  me 
and  bless  me,  and  all  will  go  right  with  me." 

With  bitter  tears  Ellen  mingled  as  eager  prayers,  for  for- 
giveness and  help  to  be  faithful.  She  resolved  that  nothing, 
come  what  would,  should  tempt  her  to  swerve  one  iota  from 
the  straight  line  of  truth  ;  she  resolved  to  be  more  careful  of 
her  private  hour ;  she  thought  she  had  scarcely  had  her  full 
hour  a  day  lately  ;  she  resolved  to  make  the  Bible  her  only 
and  her  constant  rule  of  life  in  everything  ; — and  she  prayed, 
such  prayers  as  a  heart  thoroughly  in  earnest  can  pray,  for  the 
seal  to  these  resolutions.  Not  one  word  of  the  sermon  did 
Ellen  hear ;  but  she  never  passed  a  more  profitable  hour  in 
church  in  her  life. 

All  her  tears  were  not  from  the  spring  of  these  thoughts 
and  feelings  ;  some  were  the  pouring  out  of  the  gathered  sad- 
ness of  the  week ;  some  came  from  recollections,  oh  how 
tender  and  strong !  of  lost  and  distant  friends.  Her  mo- 
ther— and  Alice — and  Mr.  Humphreys — and  Margery — and 
Mr.  Van  Brunt — and  Mr.  George  Marshman  ; — and  she 
longed,  with  longing  that  seemed  as  if  it  would  burst  her 
heart,  to  see  her  brother.  She  longed  for  the  pleasant  voice, 
the  eye  of  thousand  expressions,  into  which  she  always  looked 
as  if  she  had  never  seen  it  before,  the  calm  look  that  told  he 
was  satisfied  with  her,  the  touch  of  his  hand,  which  many  a 
time  had  said  a  volume.  Ellen  thought  she  would  give  any- 
thing in  the  world  to  see  him  and  hear  him  speak  one  word. 
As  this  could  not  be,  she  resolved  with  the  greatest  care  to 
do  what  would  please  him  ;  that  when  she  did  see  him  he 
might  find  her  all  he  wished. 

She  had  wept  herself  out ;  she  had  refreshed  and  strength- 
ened herself  by  fleeing  to  the  stronghold  of  the  prisoners  of 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


285 


hope ;  and  when  the  last  hymn  was  given  out  she  raised  her 
h«ad  and  took  the  book  to  find  it.  To  her  great  surprise  she 
saw  Mr.  Lindsay  sitting  at  the  other  end  of  the  pew,  with 
folded  arms,  like  a  man  not  thinking  of  what  was  going  on 
around  him.  Ellen  was  startled,  but  obeying  the  instinct 
that  told  her  what  he  would  like,  she  immediately  moved 
down  the  pew  and  stood  beside  him  while  the  last  hymn 
was  singing  ;  and  if  Ellen  had  joined  in  no  other  part  of  the 
service  that  afternoon,  she  at  least  did  in  that  with  all  her 
heart.  They  walked  home  then  without  a  word  on  either 
side.  Mr.  Lindsay  did  not  quit  her  hand  till  he  had  drawn 
her  into  the  library.  There  he  threw  off  her  bonnet  and 
wrappers  and  taking  her  in  his  arms,  exclaimed, 

"  My  poor  little  darling !  what  was  the  matter  with  you 
this  afternoon  ?" 

There  was  so  much  of  kindness  again  in  his  tone,  that 
overjoyed,  Ellen  eagerly  returned  his  caress,  and  assured  him 
there  was  nothing  the  matter  with  her  now. 

"  Nothing  the  matter !"  said  he,  tenderly  pressing  her 
face  against  his  own, — "  nothing  the  matter  !  with  these  pale 
cheeks  and  wet  eyes  ?  nothing  now  Ellen  ?" 

Only  that  I  am  so  glad  to  hear  you  speak  kindly  to  me 
again,  sir." 

"  Kindly?  I  will  never  speak  any  way  but  kindly  to  you 
daughter ; — come  1  I  will  not  have  any  more  tears — you  have 
shed  enough  for  to-day  I  am  sure  ;  lift  up  your  face  and  I 
will  kiss  them  away.  What  was  the  matter  with  you,  my 
child  ?" 

But  he  had  to  wait  a  little  while  for  an  answer. 
"  What  was  it,  Ellen  ?" 

"  One  thing,"  said  Ellen, — "  I  was  sorry  for  what  I  had 
said  to  you,  sir,  just  before  I  went  out." 

What  was  that  ?  I  do  not  remember  anything  that  de 
served  to  be  a  cause  of  grief." 

"  I  told  you,  sir,  when  I  w^anted  you  to  let  me  go  to 
church,  that  I  hadn't  seen  Edinburgh  yet." 

"  Well  ?" 

Well  sir,  that  wasn't  being  quite  true ;  and  I  was  very 
sorry  for  it !" 

"Not  true  ?  yes  it  was ;  what  do  you  mean  ?  you  bad  not 
seen  Edinburgh." 


286 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


*'  No  sir,  but  I  mean — that  was  true,  but  I  said  it  to  make 
you  believe  what  wasn't  true." 

-  How?" 

**  I  meant  you  to  think,  sir,  that  that  was  the  reason  why 
I  wanted  to  go  to  church — to  see  the  city  and  the  new 
sights — and  it  wasn't  at  all." 

"  What  was  it  then?" 

Ellen  hesitated. 

"  I  always  love  to  go,  sir, — and  besides  I  beheve  I  wanted 
be  alone." 

*'  And  you  were  not,  after  all,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  again 
pressing  her  cheek  to  his, — "  for  I  followed  you  there.  But 
Ellen,  my  child,  you  were  troubled  without  reason  ;  you  had 
said  nothing  that  was  false." 

"  Ah,  sir,  but  I  had  made  you  believe  what  was  false." 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  **  you  are  a  nice 
reasoner.    And  are  you  always  true  upon  this  close  scale  ?" 

"  I  wish  I  was  sir,  but  you  see  I  am  not.  T  am  sure  I  hate 
everything  else !" 

"  Well  1  will  not  quarrel  with  you  for  being  true,"  said 
Mr.  Lindsay  ; — "  I  wish  there  was  a  little  more  of  it  in  the 
world.  Was  this  the  cause  of  all  those  tears  this  after- 
noon ?" 

No  sir — not  all." 

"  What  beside,  Ellen  ?" 

Ellen  looked  down,  and  was  silent. 

"  Come — I  must  know." 

"  Must  I  tell  you  all,  sir  ?" 

"  You  must  indeed,"  said  he  smiling;  "  I  will  have  the 
whole,  daughter." 

"  I  had  been  feeling  sorry  all  the  week  because  you  and 
grandmother  and  aunt  Keith  were  displeased  with  me." 

Again  Mr.  Lindsay's  silent  caress  in  its  tenderness  seemed 
to  say  that  she  should  never  have  the  same  complaint  to 
make  again. 

"  Was  that  all,  Ellen  ?"  as  she  hesitated. 

-  No  sir." 
"  Well  ?" 

*'  I  wish  you  wouldn't  ask  me  further  ;  please  do  not ! — 
shall  displease  you  again." 
"  I  will  not  be  displeased." 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  W  ORLD. 


287 


"  I  was  thinking  of  Mr.  Humpheys,"  said  Ellen  in  a  low 
tone. 

"Who  is  that?" 

"  You  know,  sir, — you  say  I  must  not  call  him — " 

"  What  were  you  thinking  of  him." 

"  I  was  wishing  very  much  I  could  see  him  again." 

"  Well  you  are  a  truth-teller,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay, — "  or 
bolder  than  I  think  you." 

"  You  said  you  would  not  be  displeased,  sir." 
Neither  will  I,  daughter ;  but  what  shall  I  do  to  make 
you  forget  these  people  ?" 

"  Nothino-,  sir  ;  I  cannot  forfjet  them  ;  I  shouldn't  deserve 
to  have  you  love  me  a  bit  if  I  could.  Let  me  love  them,  and 
do  not  be  angry  with  me  for  it !" 

"  But  I  am  not  satisfied  to  have  your  body  here  and  your 
heart  somewhere  else." 

"  I  must  have  a  poor  little  kind  of  heart,"  said  Ellen 
smiling  amidst  her  tears,  "  if  it  had  room  in  it  for  only  one 
person." 

"  Ellen,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay  inquisitively,  "  did  you  insin- 
uate a  falsehood  there  ?" 
"No  sir!" 

"  There  is  honesty  in  those  eyes,"  said  he,  "  if  there  is  hon- 
esty anywhere  in  the  world.  I  am  satisfied — that  is,  half 
satisfied.  Now  lie  there  my  little  daughter,  and  rest,"  said 
he,  laying  her  upon  the  sofa  ;  *'  you  look  as  if  you  needed  it.'* 

"  I  don't  need  anything  now,"  said  Ellen,  as  she  laid  her 
cheek  upon  the  grateful  pillow,  "  except  one  thing — ^if 
grandmother  would  only  forgive  me  too." 

"  You  must  try  not  to  offend  your  grandmother,  Ellen, 
for  she  does  not  very  readily  forgive ;  but  I  think  we  can 
arrange  this  matter.    Go  you  to  sleep." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Ellen,  smiling  as  she  closed  her  eyes, 
"  why  everybody  calls  me  '  little I  dont  think  I  am  very 
littje.    Everybody  says  '  little.'  " 

Mr.  Lindsay  thought  he  understood  it  when  a  few  minutes 
after  he  sat  watching  her  as  she  really  had  fallen  asleep. 
The  innocent  brow,  the  perfect  sweet  calm  of  the  face,  seemed 
to  belong  to  much  younger  years.  Even  Mr.  Lindsay 
could  not  help  recollectmg  the  housekeeper's  comment, 
**  Heaven's  peace  within  ;"  scarcely  Ellen's  own  mother  ever 


288 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


watched  over  her  with  more  fond  tenderness  than  her  adopt- 
ed father  did  now. 

For  several  days  after  this  he  would  hardly  permit  her  to 
leave  him.  He  made  her  bring  her  books  and  study  where 
he  was  ;  he  went  out  and  came  in  with  her ;  and  kept  her 
by  his  side  whenever  they  joined  the  rest  of  the  family  at 
meals  or  in  the  evening.  Whether  Mr.  Lindsay  intended  it 
or  not,  this  had  soon  the  effect  to  abate  the  displeasure  of 
his  mother  and  sister.  Ellen  was  almost  taken  out  of  their 
hands,  and  they  thought  it  expedient  not  to  let  him  have 
the  whole  of  her.  And  though  Ellen  could  better  bear  their 
cold  looks  and  words  since  she  had  Mr.  Lindsay's  favor 
again,  she  was  veiy  glad  when  they  smiled  upon  her  too, 
and  went  dancing  about  with  quite  a  happy  face. 

She  was  now  very  busy.  She  had  masters  for  the 
piano  and  singing  and  different  branches  of  knowledge  ;  she 
went  to  Mr.  Muller  regularly  twice  a  week  ;  and  soon  her 
riding-attendance  began.  She  had  said  no  more  on  the 
subject,  but  went  quietly,  hoping  they  would  find  out  their 
mistake  before  long.    Lady  Keith  always  accompanied  her. 

One  day  Ellen  had  ridden  near  her  usual  time,  when  a 
young  lady  with  whom  she  attended  a  German  class,  came 
up  to  where  she  was  resting.  This  lady  was  several  years 
older  than  Ellen,  but  had  taken  a  fancy  to  her. 

How  finely  you  got  on  yesterday,"  said  she, — "making 
us  all  ashamed.    Ah,  I  guess  M. Muller  helped  you." 

"  Yes,"  said  Ellen,  smihng,  "  he  did  help  me  a  little  ; 
he  helped  me  with  those  troublesome  pronunciations," 

"  With  nothing  else,  I  suppose  ?  Ah  well,  we  must  sub- 
mit to  be  stupid.    How  do  you  do  to-day  ?" 

"I  am  very  tired,  Miss  Gordon." 

"  Tired  ?    0  you're  not  used  to  it," 
No  it  isn't  that,"  said  Ellen  ; — "  I  am  used  to  it — that  is 
the  reason  I  am  tired.    I  am  accustomed  to  ride  up  and 
down  the  country  at  any  pace  I  like  ;  and  it  is  very  tiresome 
to  walk  stupidly  round  and  round  for  an  hour." 

"  But  do  you  know  how  to  manage  a  horse  ?  I  thought 
you  were  only  just  beginning  to  learn." 

"  0  no — I  have  been  learning  this  great  while  ; — only  they 
don't  think  I  know  how,  and  they  have  never  seen  rae.  Are 
you  just  come,  Miss  Gordon?" 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


289 


"  Yes,  and  they  are  bringing  out  Sophronisbe  for  me — do 
ou  know  Sophronisbe  ? — look — that  light  grey — isn't  she 
eautiful?  she's  the  loveliest  creature  in  the  whole  stud." 
"01  know  !"  said  Ellen ;  "  I  saw  you  on  her  the  other 
day ;   she  went  charmingly.     How  long  shall  I  be  kept 
walking  here,  Miss  Gordon  ?" 

"  Why  I  don't  know — I  should  think  they  would  find  out 
— what  does  De  Courcy  say  to  you  ?" 

"  O  he  comes  and  looks  at  me  and  says,  '  tres  bien — tres 
bien,'  and  '  allez  comme  ga,'  and  then  he  walks  off." 

Well  I  declare  that  is  too  bad,"  said  Miss  Gordon  laugh- 
ing. Look  here — I've  got  a  good  thought  in  my  head — 
suppose  you  mount  Sophronisbe  in  my  place,  without  saying 
anything  to  anybody,  and  let  them  see  what  you  are  up  to. 
Can  you  trust  yourself  ?  she's  very  spirited." 

I  could  trust  myself,"  said  Ellen  ;   "  but,  thank  you,  I 
think  I  had  better  not." 
"  Afraid?" 

No,  not  at  all ;  but  my  aunt  and  father  would  not  like  it." 
"  Nonsense  !  how  should  they  dislike  it — there's  no  sort  of 
danger,,  you  know.  Come  ! — I  thought  you  sat  wonderfully 
for  a  beginner.  I  am  surprised  De  Courcy  hadn't  better  eyes. 
I  guess  you  have  learned  German  before  Ellen  ? — Come, 
will  you?" 

But  Ellen  declined,  preferring  her  plodding  walk  round  the 
ring  to  any  putting  of  herself  forward.  Presently  Mr.  Lind- 
say came  in.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  been  there.  His 
eyes  soon  singled  out  Ellen. 

My  daughter  sits  well,"  he  remarked  to  the  riding-master. 

"  A  merveille! — Mademoiselle  Lindesay  does  ride  remarqua- 
blement  pour  une  beginner — qui  ne  fait  que  commencer. 
Would  it  be  possible  that  she  has  had  no  lessons  before  ?" 

"  Why,  yes — she  has  had  lessons — of  what  sort  I  don't 
know,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  going  up  to  Ellen.  "  How  do  you 
like  it,  Ellen  ?" 

"  I  don't  like  it  at  all,  sir." 

"  I  thought  you  were  so  fond  of  riding." 

**  I  don't  call  this  riding,  sir." 

"  Ha  !  what  do  you  call  riding  ?  Here,  M.  De  Courcy — 
won't  you  have  the  goodness  to  put  this  young  lady  on  an- 
other horse  and  see  if  she  knows  anything  about  handling  him.** 
\ot,  II.  13 


290 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


'*  With  great  pleasure  !"  M.  De  Courcy  would  do  any- 
thing that  was  requested  of  him.  Ellen  was  taken  out  of  the 
ring  of  walkers  and  mounted  on  a  fine  animal,  and  set  by 
herself  to  have  her  skill  tried  in  as  many  various  ways  as  M. 
De  Courcy 's  ingenuity  could  point  out.  Never  did  she  bear 
herself  more  erectly ;  never  were  her  hand  and  her  horse's 
mouth  on  nicer  terms  of  acquaintanceship  ;  never,  even  to 
please  her  master,  had  she  so  given  her  whole  soul  to  the 
single  business  of  managing  her  horse  and  herself  perfectly 
well.  She  knew  as  little  as  she  cared  that  a  number  of  per- 
sons besides  her  friends  were  standing  to  look  at  her  ;  she 
thought  of  only  two  people  there,  Mr.  Lindsay  and  her  aunt ; 
and  the  riding-master,  as  his  opinion  might  affect  theirs. 

"  C'est  tres  bien, — c'est  tres  bien," — he  muttered, — c'est 
par-faite-ment — Monsieur,  Mademoiselle  votre  fille  has  had 
good  lessons — voila  qui  est  entierement  comme  il  faut." 

"  Assez  bien,"  said  Mr  Lindsay  smiling.  "  The  little 
gipsey!" 

"  Mademoiselle,"  said  the  riding-master  as  she  paused 
before  them, — "  pourquoi,  wherefore  have  you  stopped  in 
your  canter  tantot — a  little  while  ago — et  puis  recommence'?" 

"  Monsieur,  he  led  with  the  wrong  foot." 

*' C'est  9a — ^justement!"  he  exclaimed. 

"  Have  you  practised  leaping,  Ellen  ?" 

"Yes  sir." 

**  Try  her  M.  De  Courcy.  How  high  will  you  go  Ellen  ?" 
As  high  as  you  please,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  leaning  over  and 
patting  her  horse's  neck  to  hide  her  smile. 

"  How  you  look,  child !"  said  Mr.  Lindsay  in  a  pleased 
tone.    "  So  this  is  what  you  call  riding  ?" 

**  It  is  a  little  more  like  it,  sir." 

Ellen  was  tried  with  standing  and  running  leaps,  higher 
and  higher,  till  Mr.  Lindsay  would  have  no  more  of  it ; 
and  M.  De  Courcy  assured  him  that  his  daughter  had 
been  taught  by  a  very  accomplished  rider,  and  there  was 
little  or  nothing  left  for  him  to  do  ;  il  n'y  pouvoit  plus ; — but 
he  should  be  very  happy  to  have  her  come  there  to  practise, 
and  show  an  example  to  his  pupils. 

The  very  bright  color  in  Ellen's  face  as  she  heard  this 
might  have  been  mistaken  for  the  flush  of  gratified  vanity : 
it  was  nothing  less.    Not  one  word  of  this  praise  did  she  take 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


291 


to  herself,  nor  had  she  sought  for  herself ; — it  was  all  for 
somebody  else ;  and  perhaps  so  Lady  Keith  understood  it, 
for  she  looked  rather  discomfited.  But  Mr.  Lindsay  was 
exceedingly  pleased ;  and  promised  Ellen  that  as  soon  as  the 
warm  weather  came  she  should  have  a  horse,  and  rides  to 
her  heart's  content. 


CHAPTER  L 


She  was  his  care,  his  hope,  and  his  delight, 
Most  in  his  thought,  and  ever  in  his  sight. 

Dr\deh. 

Ellen  might  now  have  been  in  some  danger  of  being 
spoiled, — not  indeed  with  over-indulgence,  for  that  was  not 
the  temper  of  the  family, — but  from  finding  herself  a  person 
of  so  much  consequence.  She  could  not  but  feel  that  in  the 
minds  of  every  one  of  her  three  friends  she  was  the  object  of 
greatest  importance  ;  their  thoughts  and  care  were  principally 
occupied  with  her.  Even  Lady  Keith  was  perpetually  watch- 
ing, superintending,  and  admonishing  ;  though  she  every  now 
and  then  remarked  with  a  kind  of  surprise,  that  "  really  she 
scarcely  ever  had  to  say  anything  to  Ellen  ;  she  thought  she 
must  know  things  by  instinct."  To  Mr.  Lindsay  and  his 
mother  she  was  the  idol  of  life ;  and  except  when  by  chance 
her  will  might  cross  theirs,  she  had  what  she  wished  and  did 
what  she  pleased. 

But  Ellen  happily  had  two  safeguards  which  effectually 
kept  her  from  pride  or  presumption. 

One  was  her  love  for  her  brother  and  longing  remembrance 
of  him.  There  was  no  one  to  take  his  place,  not  indeed  in 
her  affections,  for  that  would  have  been  impossible,  but  in 
the  daily  course  of  her  life.  She  missed  him  in  everything. 
She  had  abundance  of  kindness  and  fondness  shown  her,  but 
the  sympathy  was  wanting.  She  was  talked  to,  but  not  with. 
No  one  now  knew  always  what  she  was  thinking  of,  nor  it 
they  did  would  patiently  draw  out  her  thoughts,  canvass 
them,  set  them  right  or  show  them  wrong.  No  one  now 
could  tell  what  she  was  feeling,  nor  had  the  art  sweetly,  in  a 
way  she  scarce  knew  how,  to  do  away  with  sadness,  or  dull- 
ness, or  perverseness,  and  leave  her  spirits  clear  and  bright 
as  the  noon-day.    With  all  the  petting  and  fondness  she  had 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


293 


from  her  new  friends,  Ellen  felt  alone.  She  was  petted  and 
fondled  as  a  darling  possession — a  dear  plaything — a  thing  to 
be  cared  for,  taught,  governed,  disposed  of,  with  the  greatest 
aftection  and  delight ;  but  John's  was  a  higher  style  of  kind- 
ness, that  entered  into  all  her  innermost  feelings  and  wants  ; 
and  his  was  a  higher  style  of  authority  too,  that  reached 
where  theirs  could  never  attain  ;  an  authority  Ellen  always 
felt  it  utterly  impossible  to  dispute  ;  it  was  sure  to  be  exerted 
on  the  side  of  what  was  right ;  and  she  could  better  have 
borne  hard  words  from  Mr.  Lindsay  than  a  glance  of  her 
brother's  eye.  Ellen  made  no  objection  to  the  imperativeness 
of  her  new  guardians ;  it  seldom  was  called  up  so  as  to  trou- 
ble her,  and  she  was  not  of  late  parti cularl}'-  fond  of  having 
her  own  way  ;  but  she  sometimes  drew  comparisons. 

"  I  could  not  any  sooner — I  could  not  as  soon — have  dis- 
obeyed John  ; — and  yet  he  never  would  have  spoken  to  me 
as  they  do  if  I  had." 

''Some  pride  perhaps?"  she  said,  remembering  Mr.  Dun- 
das's  Avords  ; — "  I  should  say  a  great  deal — John  isn't  proud  ; 
— and  yet — I  don't  know — he  isn't  proud  as  they  are  ;  I 
wish  I  knew  what  kinds  of  pride  are  right  and  what  wrong — 
he  would  tell  me  if  he  was  here." 

"  What  are  you  in  a  '  brown  study '  about,  Ellen  ?"  said 
Mr.  Lindsay  ?" 

"  I  was  thinking,  sir,  about  different  kinds  of  pride — I  wish 
I  knew  the  right  from  the  wrong — or  is  there  any  good 
kind  ?" 

"All  good,  Elleti — all  good,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay, — "pro- 
vided you  do  not  have  too  much  of  it." 

"  Would  you  like  me  to  be  proud,  sir  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  he,  laughing  and  pinching  her  cheek,  "as 
proud  as  you  like  ;  if  you  only  don't  let  me  see  any  of  it." 

Not  very  satisfactory  ;  but  that  was  the  way  with  the  few 
questions  of  any  magnitude  Ellen  ventured  to  ask ;  she  was 
kissed  and  laughed  at,  called  metaphysical  or  j^hilosophical, 
and  dismissed  with  no  hght  on  the  subject.  She  sighed  for 
her  brother.  The  hours  with  M.  MuUer  were  the  best  sub- 
stitute she  had  ;  they  were  dearly  prized  by  her,  and,  to  say 
truth,  by  him.  He  had  no  family,  he  lived  alone  ;  and  the 
visits  of  his  docile  and  intelligent  little  pupil  became  very 
pleasant  breaks  in  the  monotony  of  his  home  life.  Truly 


294 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


kind-hearted  and  benevolent,  and  a  true  lover  of  knowledge, 
he  delighted  to  impart  it.  Ellen  soon  found  she  might  ask 
him  as  many  questions  as  she  pleased,  that  Avere  at  all  proper 
to  the  subject  they  were  upon ;  and  he,  amused  and  inter- 
ested, was  equally  able  and  willing  to  answer  her.  Often 
when  not  particularly  busy  he  allowed  her  hour  to  become 
two.  Excellent  hours  for  Ellen.  M.  Muller  had  made  his 
proposition  to  Mr.  Lindsay,  partly  from  grateful  regaid  for 
him,  and  partly  to  gratify  the  fancy  he  had  taken  to  Ellen  on 
account  of  her  simplicity,  intelligence,  and  good  manners. 
This  latter  motive  did  not  disappoint  him.  He  grew  very  much 
attached  to  his  little  pupil ;  an  attachment  which  Ellen  faith- 
fully returned,  both  in  kind,  and  by  every  trifling  service  that 
it  could  fall  in  her  way  to  render  him.  Fine  flowers  and 
fruit,  that  it  was  her  special  delight  to  carry  to  M.  Muller; 
little  jobs  of  copying,  or  setting  in  order  some  disorderly  mat- 
ters in  his  rooms,  where  he  soon  would  trust  her  to  do  any- 
thing ;  or  a  book  from  her  father's  library  ;  and  once  or  twice 
when  he  was  indisposed,  reading  to  him,  as  she  did  by  the 
hour  patiently,  matters  that  could  neither  intei'est  nor  con- 
cern her.  On  the  whole,  and  with  good  reason,  the  days 
when  they  were  to  meet  were  hailed  with  as  much  pleasure 
perhaps  by  M.  Muller  as  by  Ellen  heiself. 

Her  other  safeguard  was  the  precious  hour  alone  which 
she  had  promised  John  never  to  lose  when  she  could  help  it. 
The  only  time  she  could  liave  was  the  early  morning  before 
the  rest  of  the  family  were  up.  To  this  hour,  and  it  was 
often  more  than  an  hour,  Ellen  was  faithful.  Her  little  Bible 
was  extremely  precious  now  ;  Ellen  had  never  gone  to  it  with 
a  deeper  sense  of  need  ;  and  never  did  she  find  more  comfort 
in  being  able  to  disburden  her  heart  in  prayer  of  its  load  of 
cares  and  wishes.  Never  more  than  now  had  she  felt  the 
preciousness  of  that  Friend  who  draws  closer  to  his  children 
the  closer  they  draw  to  him  ;  she  had  never  realized  more 
the  joy  of  having  him  to  go  to.  It  was  her  special  delight 
to  pray  for  those  loved  ones  she  could  do  nothing  else  for ;  it 
"was  a  joy  to  think  that  He  who  hears  prayer  is  equally  pre- 
sent with  all  his  people,  and  that  though  thousands  of  miles 
lie  between  the  petitioner  and  the  petitioned-for,  the  breath 
of  prayer  may  span  the  distance  and  pour  blessings  on  the 
far-off  head.    The  burden  of  thoughts  and  affections  gathered 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


295 


during  the  twenty-three  hours,  was  laid  down  in  the  twenty- 
fourth  ;  and  Ellen  could  meet  her  friends  at  the  breakfast 
table  with  a  sunshiny  face.  Little  they  thought  where  her 
heart  had  been,  or  where  it  had  got  its  sunshine. 

But  notAvithstandingthis,  Ellen  had  too  much  to  remember 
and  regret  than  to  be  otherwise  than  sober, — soberer  than 
her  fi-iends  liked.  They  noticed  with  sorrow  that  the  sun- 
shine wore  off  as  the  day  rolled  on  ; — that  though  ready  to 
snvle  upon  occasion,  her  face  always  settled  again  into  a 
gravity  they  thought  altogether  unsuitable.  Mrs.  Lindsay 
fancied  she  knew  the  cause,  and  resolved  to  break  it  up. 

From  the  fiist  of  Ellen's  coming  her  grandmother  had 
taken  the  entire  charge  of  her  toilet.  Whatever  Mrs,  Lind- 
say's notions  in  general  might  be  as  to  the  propriety  of  young 
girls  learning  to  take  care  of  themselves,  Ellen  was  much  too 
precious  a  plaything  to  be  trusted  to  any  other  hands,  even 
her  own.  At  eleven  o'clock  regularly  every  day  she  went  to 
her  grandmother's  dressing  room  for  a  very  elaborate  bath- 
ing and  dressing  ;  though  not  a  very  long  one,  for  all  Mrs. 
Lindsay's  were  energetic.  Now,  Avithout  any  hint  as  to  the 
reason,  she  was  directed  to  come  to  her  grandmother  an  hour 
before  the  breakfast  time,  to  go  through  then  the  course  of 
cold-water,  sponging,  and  hair-gloving,  that  Mrs,  Lindsay 
was  accustomed  to  administer  at  eleven.  Ellen  heard  in 
silence,  and  obeyed,  but  made  up  her  hour  by  rising  earlier 
than  usual,  so  as  to  have  it  before  going  to  her  grandmother. 
It  was  a  little  difficult  at  first,  but  she  soon  got  into  the  habit 
of  it,  thouo-h  the  mornincrs  were  dark  and  cold.  After  a  while 
it  chanced  that  this  came  to  Mrs.  Lindsay's  ears,  and  Ellen 
was  told  to  come  to  her  as  soon  as  she  was  out  of  bed  in  the 
morning. 

But  grandmother,"  said  Ellen, — "  I  am  up  a  great  while 
before  you  are  ;  1  should  find  you  asleep ;  don't  I  come  soon 
enough  ?" 

**  What  do  you  get  up  so  early  for  ?" 

"  You  know  ma'am — I  told  you  some  time  ago.  I  want 
some  time  to  myself." 

"  It  is  not  good  for  you  to  be  up  so  long  before  breakfast, 
and  in  these  cold  mornings.  Do  not  rise  in  future  till  I  send 
for  you." 

But  grandmother, — that  is  the  only  time  for  me — thei'e 


296 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD, 


isn't  an  hour  after  breakfast  that  I  can  have  regularly  to 
myself ;  and  I  cannot  be  happy  if  I  do  not  have  some  time." 

**  Let  it  be  as  I  said,"  said  Mrs.  Lindsay  smiling. 

"  Couldn't  you  let  me  come  to  you  at  eleven  o'clock  again, 
ma'am  ?  do,  grandmother  1" 

Mrs.  Lindsay  touched  her  lips  ;  a  way  of  silencing  her 
that  Ellen  particularly  disliked,  and  which  both  Mr.  Lindsay 
and  his  mother  was  accustomed  to  use. 

She  thought  a  great  deal  on  the  subject,  and  came  soberly 
to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  her  duty  to  disobey.  "  I  promised 
John,"  she  said  to  herself, — "  I  will  never  break  that  promise  ! 
I'll  do  anything  rather.  And  besides,  if  1  had  not,  it  is  just 
as  much  my  duty — a  duty  that  no  one  here  has  a  right  to 
command  me  against.  I  will  do  what  I  think  right,  come 
what  may." 

She  could  not  without  its  coming  to  the  knowledge  of  her 
grandmother.  A  week  or  two  after  the  former  conversation 
Mrs.  Lindsay  made  inquiries  of  Mason,  her  woman,  who  was 
obliged  to  confess  that  Miss  Ellen's  light  was  always  burning 
when  she  went  to  call  her. 

Ellen,"  said  Mrs.  Lindsay  the  same  day, — "  have  you 
obeyed  me  in  what  I  told  you  the  other  morning  ? — about 
lying  in  bed  till  you  are  sent  for  ?" 

"  No,  ma'am." 

**  You  are  frank  !  to  venture  to  tell  me  so.  Why  have  you 
disobeyed  me  ?" 

"  Because,  grandmother,  I  thought  it  was  right.'* 
"•You  think  it  is  right  to  disobey,  do  you  ?" 
*'  Yes,  ma'am,  if — " 
If  what  ?" 

*'  I  mean,  grandmother,  there  is  One  I  must  obey  even  be- 
fore you." 

"  If  what  ?"  repeated  Mrs.  Lindsay. 

**  Please  do  not  ask  me,  grandmother  ;  I  don't  want  to  say 
that." 

"  Say  it  at  once,  Ellen  !" 

"  I  think  it  is  right  to  disobey  if  I  am  told  to  do  what  i» 
irrong,"  said  Ellen  in  a  low  voice. 

•*  Are  you  to  be  the  judge  of  right  and  ^^  rong  ?" 
"No,  ma'am." 
"  Who  then  ?" 


THE  ^VIDE,  UIDE  'WOBLD. 


297 


"  The  Bible." 

**  I  do  not  know  what  is  the  reason,"  said  Mrs.  Lindsay, 
"  that  I  cannot  be  very  angry  with  you.  Ellen,  I  repeat  the 
order  I  gave  you  the  other  day.    Promise  me  to  obey  it." 

"  I  cannot,  grandmother ;  I  must  have  that  hour  ;  I  cannot 
do  without  it." 

"  So  must  I  be  obeyed,  I  assure  you,  Ellen.  You  will 
sleep  in  my  room  henceforth." 

Ellen  heard  her  in  despair ;  she  did  not  know  what  to  do. 
Appealing  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  There  was,  as  she 
said,  no  time  she  could  count  upon  after  breakfast.  During 
the  whole  day  and  evening  she  was  either  busy  with  hei 
studies  or  masters,  or  in  the  company  of  her  grandmother  or 
Mr.  Lindsay  ;  and  if  not  there,  liable  to  be  called  to  them  at 
any  moment.  Her  grandmother's  expedient  for  increasing 
her  cheerfulness  had  marvelous  ill  success.  Ellen  drooped 
under  the  sense  of  wrong,  as  well  as  the  loss  of  her  greatest 
comfort.  For  two  days  she  felt  and  looked  forlorn  ;  and 
smihng  now  seemed  to  be  a  difficult  matter.  Mr.  Lindsay 
happened  to  be  remarkably  busy  those  two  days,  so  that  he 
did  not  notice  what  was  going  on.  At  the  end  of  them, 
however,  in  the  evening,  he  called  Ellen  to  him,  and  whis- 
peringly  asked  what  was  the  matter." 

"  Nothing,  sir,"  said  Ellen,  "only  grandmother  will  not  let 
me  do  something  I  cannot  be  happy  without  doing." 

"  Is  it  one  of  the  things  you  want  to  do  because  it  is  right, 
whether  it  is  convenient  or  not  ?"  he  asked  smiling.  Ellen 
could  not  smile. 

"  0  father,"  she  whispered,  putting  her  face  close  to  his, 
if  you  would  only  get  grandmother  to  let  me  do  it !" 

The  words  were  spoken  with  a  sob,  and  Mr.  Lindsay  felt 
her  warm  tears  upon  his  neck.  He  had  however  far  too 
much  respect  for  his  mother  to  say  anything  against  her  pro- 
ceedings while  Ellen  was  present ;  he  simply  answered  that 
she  must  do  whatever  her  grandmother  said.  But  when 
Ellen  had  left  the  room,  which  she  did  immediately,  he  took 
the  matter  up.  Mrs.  Lindsay  explained,  and  insisted  that 
Ellen  was  spoiling  herself  for  life  and  the  world  by  a  set  of 
dull  religious  notions  that  were  utterly  unfit  for  a  child  ;  th.at 
she  would  very  soon  get  over  thinking  about  her  habit  of 
morning  prayer,  and  would  then  do  much  better.  Mr.  Lindsay 
13* 


298 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


looked  grave ;  but  with  Ellen's  tears  yet  wet  up  )n  his 
cheek  he  could  not  dismiss  the  matter  so  lightly,  and  per- 
sisted in  desiring  that  his  mother  should  give  up  the  point, 
which  she  utterly  refused  to  do. 

Ellen  meanwhile  had  fled  to  her  own  room.  The  moon- 
light was  quietly  streaming  in  through  the  casement ;  it 
looked  to  her  like  an  old  friend.  She  threw  herself  down  on 
the  floor,  close  by  the  glass,  and  after  some  tears,  which  she 
could  not  help  shedding,  she  raised  her  head  and  looked 
thoughtfully  out.  It  was  very  seldom  now  that  she  had  a 
chance  of  the  kind ;  she  was  rarely  alone  but  when  she  was 
busy. 

*'  I  wonder  if  that  same  moon  is  this  minute  shining  in  at  the 
glass  door  at  home  ? — no,  to  be  sure  it  can't  this  minute — what 
am  I  thinking  of? — but  it  was  there  or  will  be  there — let  me 
see — east — west — it  was  there  some  time  this  morning  I  sup- 
pose ;  looking  right  into  our  old  sitting-room.  0  moon,  1  wish  I 
was  in  your  place  for  once,  to  look  in  there  too  !  But  it  is 
all  empty  now — there's  nobody  there — Mr.  Humphreys 
would  be  in  his  study — how  lonely,  how  lonely  he  must  be  ! 
O  I  wish  I  was  back  there  with  him  ! — John  isn't  there  though 
— no  matter — he  will  be, — and  I  could  do  so  much  for  Mr. 
Humphreys  in  the  meanwhile.  He  must  miss  me.  I  wonder 
where  John  is — nobody  writes  to  me;  I  should  think  some 
one  might.  I  wonder  if  I  am  ever  to  see  them  again.  0  he 
will  come  to  see  me  surely  before  he  goes  home  I — but  then 
he  will  have  to  go  away  without  me  again — I  am  fast 
now — fast  enough — but  oh  !  am  1  to  be  separated  from  them 
for  ever  ?    Well ! — 1  shall  see  them  in  heaven  !" 

It  was  a  "  Well"  of  bitter  acquiescence,  and  washed  down 
with  bitter  tears. 

"  Is  it  my  bonny  Miss  Ellen  ?"  said  the  voice  of  the  house- 
keeper coming  softly  in  ; — "  is  my  baim  sitting  a'  her  lane 
r  the  dark  ?  Why  are  ye  no  wi'  the  rest  o'  the  folk,  Miss 
Ellen?" 

"  I  like  to  be  alone,  Mrs.  Allen,  and  the  moon  shines  in 
here  nicely." 

"  Greeting  !"  exclaimed  the  old  lad),  drawing  nearer, — "  1 
ken  it  by  the  sound  o'  youi*  voice  ; — greeting  eenow  !  Are 
ye  no  weel,  Miss  Ellen  ?  What  vexes  my  bairn  ?  0  but  your 
father  would  be  vexed  an  he  kenned  it !" 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


299 


"  Never  mind,  Mrs.  Allen,"  said  Ellen  ;  "  I  shall  get  over 
it  directly  ;  don't  say  anything  about  it." 

"  But  I'm  wae  to  see  ye,"  said  the  kind  old  woman, 
stooping  down  and  stroking  the  head  that  again  Ellen  had 
bowed  on  her  knees  ; — "  Avill  ye  no  tell  me  what  vexes  ye  ?  Ye 
suld  be  as  blithe  as  a  bird  the  lang  day." 

"  I  can't,  Mrs.  Allen,  Avhile  I  am  away  from  my  friends." 

"  Frinds  !  and  wha  has  mair  frinds  than  yoursel,  Miss  Ellen, 
or  better  frinds  ? — father  and  mither  and  a' ;  where  wad  ye 
find  thae  that  will  love  you  mair." 

*'  Ah,  but  I  haven't  my  brother !"  sobbed  Ellen. 

"  Your  brither.  Miss  Ellen  ?    An'  wha's  he  ?" 
He's  everything,  Mrs.  Allen !  he's  everything  I     I  shall 
never  be  happy  without  him  ! — never !  never  !" 

"  Hush,  dear  Miss  Ellen  !  for  the  love  of  a'  that's  gude  ; — . 
dinna  talk  that  gate  !  and  dinna  greet  sae  !  your  father  wad 
be  sair  vexed  to  hear  ye  or  to  see  ye." 

I  cannot  help  it,"  said  Ellen  ; — "it  is  true." 

"  It  may  be  sae ;  but  dear  Miss  Ellen,  dinna  let  it  come  to 
your  father's  ken  ;  ye're  his  very  heart's  idol ;  he  disna  merit 
auglit  but  gude  frae  ye." 

"  I  know  it,  Mrs.  Allen,"  said  Ellen  weeping,  and  so  I  do 
love  hira — better  than  anybody  in  the  world,  except  two. 
But  oh  !,  I  want  my  brother  ! — I  don't  know  how  to  be  happy 
or  good  either  without  him.    I  want  him  all  the  while." 

"  Miss  Ellen,  I  kenned  and  loved  your  dear  mither  weel 
for  mony  a  day — will  ye  mind  if  I  speak  a  word  to  her 
bairn  ?" 

"  No,  dear  Mrs.  Allen — I'll  thank  you ; — did  you  know 
my  mother  ?" 

"  Wha  suld  if  I  didna?  she  was  brought  up  in  my  arms, 
and  a  dear  lassie.  Ye're  no  muckle  like  her.  Miss  Ellen ; — 
ye're  mair  bonny  than  her ;  and  no  a'  thegither  sae  frack  ; — 
though  she  was  douce  and  kind  too." 

"  I  wish" — Ellen  began,  and  stopped. 

"  My  dear  bairn,  there  is  Ane  abuve  wha'  disposes  a 
things  for  us  ;  and  he  isna  weel  pleased  when  his  children 
fash  themselves  wi'  his  dispensations.  He  has  ta'en  and 
placed  you  here,  for  your  ain  gude  I  trust, — I'm  sure  it's 
for  the  gude  of  us  a', — and  if  ye  haena  a'  things  ye  wad 


300 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


^ish,  Miss  Ellen,  ye  hae  Him  ;  dinna  forget  that  my  ain 
bairn." 

Ellen  returned  heartily  and  silently  the  embrace  of  the  old 
Scotchwoman,  and  when  she  left  her,  set  herself  to  follow 
her  advice.  She  tried  to  gather  her  scattered  thoughts  and 
smooth  her  ruffled  feehngs,  in  using  this  quiet  time  to  tho 
best  advantage.  At  the  end  of  half  an  hour  she  felt  like 
another  creature ;  and  began  to  refresh  herself  with  softly 
singing  some  of  her  old  hymns. 

The  argument  which  was  carried  on  in  the  parlor  sunk  at 
length  into  silence  without  coming  to  any  conclusion. 

"  Where  is  Miss  Ellen  ?"  Mrs.  Lindsay  asked  of  a  servant 
that  came  in. 

"  She  is  up  in  her  room,  ma'am,  singing." 

"  Tell  her  I  want  her." 

"No — stop,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay; — "I'll  go  myself." 

Her  door  was  a  little  ajar,  and  he  softly  opened  it  without 
disturbing  her.  Ellen  was  still  sitting  on  the  floor  before  the 
window,  looking  out  through  it,  and  in  rather  a  low  tone 
singing  the  last  verse  of  the  hymn     Rock  of  Ages." 

WTiile  I  draw  this  fleeting  breath, — 
When  my  eyelids  close  in  death, — 
When  I  rise  to  -worlds  unknown, 
And  behold  thee  on  thy  throne, — 
Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me. 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  thee  ! 

Mr.  Lindsay  stood  still  at  the  door.  Ellen  paused  a  minute, 
and  then  sung  "  Jerusalem  my  happy  home."  Her  utter- 
ance was  so  distinct  that  he  heard  every  word.  He  did  not 
move  till  she  had  finished,  and  then  he  came  softly  in. 

"  Singing  songs  to  the  moon,  Ellen  ?" 

Ellen  started  and  got  up  from  the  floor. 

"  No  sir ;  I  was  singing  them  to  myself." 

"  Not  entirely,  for  I  heard  the  last  one.  Why  do  you 
make  yourself  sober  singing  such  sad  things  ?" 

"  I  don't,  sir  ;  they  are  not  sad  to  me  ;  they  are  delightful. 
I  love  them  dearly." 

"  How  came  you  to  love  them  ?  it  is  not  natural  for  a  child 
of  your  age.  What  do  you  love  them  for,  my  little  daughter  ?" 

"  0  sir,  there  are  a  great  many  reasons, — I  don't  know  how 
many." 


THE  -WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


301 


"I  will  have  patience,  Ellen ;  I  want  to  hear  them  all." 

"  I  love  them  because  I  love  to  think  of  the  things  the 
hymns  are  about, — I  love  the  tunes,  dearly, — and  I  hke  both 
the  words  and  the  tunes  better,  I  believe,  because  1  have 
sung  them  so  often  with  friends." 

"  Humph  !  T  guessed  as  much.  Isn't  that  the  strongest 
reason  of  the  three  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  sir  ;  I  don't  think  it  is." 

"  Is  all  your  heart  in  America,  Ellen,  or  have  you  any  left 
to  bestow  on  us  ?" 

"  Yes  sir." 

"  Not  very  much !" 

*•  I  love  you,  father,"  said  Ellen,  laying  her  cheek  gently 
alongside  of  his. 

"  And  your  grandmother,  Ellen  ?"  said  Mr.  Lindsay, 
clasping  his  arms  around  her. 

"  Yes  sir." 

But  he  well  understood  that  the  "  yes"  was  fainter. 
*'  And  your  aunt  ? — speak,  Ellen." 

"  I  don't  love  her  as  much  as  I  Avish  I  did,"  said  Ellen ; — 
"  I  love  her  a  little  I  suppose.  0  why  do  you  ask  me  such 
a  hard  question,  father  ?" 

"  That  is  something  you  have  nothing  to  do  with,"  said 
Mr.  Lindsay  half  laughing.  "  Sit  down  here,"  he  added, 
placing  her  on  his  knee,  "  and  sing  to  me  again." 

Ellen  was  heartened  by  the  tone  of  his  voice,  and  pleased 
with  the  request.  She  immediately  sang  with  great  spirit  a 
little  methodist  hymn  she  had  learned  when  a  mere  child. 
The  wild  air  and  simple  words  singularly  suited  each  other. 

0  Canaan — bright  Canaan — 

1  am  bound  for  the  land  of  Canaan. 

O  Canaan  !  it  is  my  happy,  happy  home— 
lamboundfor  the  land  of  Canaan. 

"  Does  that  sound  sad,  sir  ?" 

"  Why  yes, — I  think  it  does,  rather,  Ellen.  Does  it  make 
you  feel  merry  ?" 

"  Not  merry,  sir, — it  isn't  merry  ;  but  I  like  it  very  much.'* 
"  The  tune  or  the  words  ?" 
"  Both,  sir." 

"  What  do  yon  mean  by  the  land  of  Canaan  ?" 
"  Heaven,  sir." 


302 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  -WORLD. 


And  do  you  like  to  think  about  that  ?  at  your  age  ?" 
"  Why  certainly,  sir  !  Why  not  ?" 
"  Why  do  you  ?" 

**  Because  it  is  a  bright  and  happy  place,"  said  Ellen 
gravely  ; — where  there  is  no  darkness,  nor  sorrow,  nor  death, 
neitlier  pain  nor  crying  ; — and  my  mother  is  there,  and  my 
dear  Alice,  and  my  Saviour  is  there  ;  and  I  hope  I  shall  be 
there  too." 

"You  are  shedding  tears  now,  Ellen." 

"  And  if  I  am,  sir,  it  is  not  because  I  am  unhappy.  It 
doesn't  make  me  unhappy  to  think  of  these  things — it  makes 
me  glad ;  and  the  more  1  think  of  them  the  happier  I  am." 

"  You  are  a  strange  child.  I  am  afraid  your  grandmother 
is  right,  and  that  you  are  hurting  yourself  with  poring  over 
serious  matters  that  you  are  too  young  for." 

"  She  would  not  think  so  if  she  knew,"  said  Ellen  sighing. 
I  should  not  be  happy  at  all  without  that,  and  you  would 
not  love  me  half  so  well,  nor  she  either.  0  father,"  she  ex- 
claimed, pressing  his  hand  in  botli  her  own  and  laying  her 
face  upon  it, — "  do  not  let  me  be  hindered  in  that !  forbid  me 
anything  you  please,  but  not  that !  the  better  I  learn  to 
please  my  best  Friend,  the  better  I  shall  please  you." 

"Whom  do  you  mean  by  'your  best  friend?'  " 

".The  Lord  my  Redeemer." 

"  W^here  did  you  get  these  notions  ?"  said  Mr.  Lindsay, 
after  a  short  pause. 

"  From  my  mother,  first,  sir." 

"  She  had  none  of  them  when  I  knew  her." 

"  She  had  afterwards,  then,  sir ;  and  0  !" — Ellen  hesi- 
tated,— "  I  wish  ev^erybody  had  them  too  !" 

"  My  little  daughter,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  affectionately  kiss- 
ing the  cheeks  and  eyes  which  were  moist  again, — "  I  shall 
indulge  you  in  this  matter.  But  you  must  keep  your  brow  | 
clear,  or  I  shall  revoke  my  grant.  And  you  belong  to  me  1 
now  ;  and  there  are  some  things  I  want  you  to  forget,  and 
not  remember, — you  understand  ?  Now  don't  sing  songs  to 
the  moon  any  more  to-night — good  night,  my  daughter." 

"  They  think  religion  is  a  strange  melancholy  thing,"  said 
Ellen  to  herself  as  she  went  to  bed  ; — "  1  must  not  give  them 
reason  to  think  so — I  must  let  my  rushlight  burn  bright — I 
must  take  care— I  never  had  more  need  !" 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


303 


And  with  an  earnest  prayer  for  help  to  do  so,  she  laid  her 
head  on  the  pillow. 

Mr.  Lindsay  told  his  mother  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to 
let  Ellen  have  her  way  for  a  while,  and  begged  that  she 
might  return  to  her  old  room  and  hours  again.  Mrs.  Lind- 
say would  not  hear  of  it.  Ellen  had  disobeyed  her  orders, 
she  said  ; — she  must  take  the  consequences. 

"  She  is  a  bold  little  hussey,  to  venture  it,"  said  Mr.  Lind- 
say,— "  but  I  do  not  think  there  is  any  naughtiness  in  her 
heart." 

"  No,  not  a  bit.  I  could  not  be  angry  with  her.  It  is 
only  those  preposterous  notions  she  has  got  from  somebody 
or  other." 

Mr.  Lindsay  said  no  more.  Next  morning  he  asked  Ellen 
privately  what  she  did  the  first  thing  after  breakfast.  Prac- 
tise on  the  piano  for  an  hour,  she  said. 

"  Couldn't  3^ou  do  it  at  any  other  time?" 

"Yes  sir,  I  could  practise  in  the  afternoon,  only  grand- 
mother likes  to  have  me  with  her." 

'*  Let  it  be  done  tlien,  Ellen,  in  future." 

"  And  what  shall  I  do  with  the  hour  after  breakfast,  sir  ?" 

"  Whatever  you  please,"  said  he  smiling. 

Ellen  thanked  him  in  the  way  she  knew  he  best  liked,  and 
gratefully  resolved  he  should  have  as  little  cause  as  possible 
to  complain  of  her.  Very  little  cause  indeed  did  he  or  any 
one  else  have.  No  fault  could  be  found  Avith  her  perform- 
ance of  duty  ;  and  her  cheerfulness  was  constant  and  unvary- 
ing. She  remembered  her  brother's  recipe  against  loneliness 
and  made  use  of  it ;  she  remembered  Mrs.  Allen's  advice  and 
followed  it ;  she  grasped  the  promises,  "  he  that  cometh  to 
me  shall  never  hunger," — and  "  seek  and  ye  shall  find," — 
precious  words  that  never  yet  disappointed  any  one  ;  and 
though  tears  might  often  fall  that  nobody  knew  of,  and  she 
might  not  be  so  merry  as  her  friends  would  have  liked  to  see 
her ;  though  her  cheerfulness  was  touched  with  sobriety, 
they  could  not  complain  ;  for  her  brow  was  always  unruffled, 
lier  voice  clear,  her  smile  ready. 

After  a  while  she  was  restored  to  her  own  sleeping  room 
again,  and  permitted  to  take  up  her  former  habits. 


CHAPTER  LI. 


Other  days  come  back  on  me 
With  recollected  music. 

Byron. 

Though  nothino^  could  be  smoother  than  the  general  course 
of  her  hfe,  Ellen's  principles  were  still  now  and  then  severely 
tried. 

Of  all  in  the  house,  next  to  Mr.  Lindsay,  she  liked  the 
company  of  the  old  housekeeper  best.  She  was  a  simple- 
minded  Christian,  a  most  benevolent  and  kind-hearted,  and 
withal  sensible  and  respectable  person  ;  devotedly  attached 
to  the  family,  and  very  fond  of  Ellen  in  particular.  Ellen 
loved,  when  she  could,  to  get  alone  with  her,  and  hear  her 
talk  of  her  mother's  young  days  ;  and  she  loved  furthermore, 
and  almost  as  much,  to  talk  to  Mrs.  Allen  of  her  own.  Ellen 
could  to  no  one  else  lisp  a  word  on  the  subject ;  and  without 
dwelhng  directly  on  those  that  she  loved,  she  delighted  to 
tell  over  to  an  interested  listener  the  things  she  had  done, 
seen,  and  felt,  with  them. 

"  I  wish  that  child  was  a  Httle  more  like  other  people," 
said  Lady  Keith  one  evening  in  the  latter  end  of  the  winter. 

"  Humph  !"  said  Mr.  Lindsay, — "  1  don't  remember  at  this 
moment  any  one  that  I  think  she  could  resemble  without 
losing  more  than  she  gained." 

O  it's  of  no  use  to  talk  to  you  about  Ellen,  brother !  You 
can  take  up  things  fast  enough  when  you  find  them  out,  but 
you  never  will  see  with  other  people's  eyes." 

"  What  do  your  eyes  see,  Catherine  ?" 
She  is  altogether  too  childish  for  her  years  ;  she  is  really 
a  baby." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay  sminng  ;  "  you  should 
ask  M.  Muller  about  that.  He  was  holding  forth  to  me  for 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  other  day,  and  could  not  stint  in 


THE   WIDE,  -WIDE  WORLD. 


305 


her  praises.  She  will  go  on,  he  says,  just  as  fast  as  he 
pleases  to  take  her." 

"  0  yes — in  intelligence  and  so  on,  I  know  she  is  not 
wanting ;  that  is  not  what  I  mean," 

She  is  perfectly  lady-like  always,"  said  Mrs.  Lindsay. 

*'  Yes,  I  know  that, — and  perfectly  child-like  too." 

"  I  like  that,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay ;  "  I  have  no  fancy  for 
your  grown-up  httle  girls." 

"Well!"  said  Lady  Keith  in  despair,  "you  may  like  it; 
but  I  tell  you  she  is  too  much  of  a  child  nevertheless, — in 
other  ways.  She  hasn't  an  idea  of  a  thousand  things.  It 
was  only  the  other  day  she  was  setting  out  to  go,  at  mid-day, 
— through  the  streets  with  a  basket  on  her  arm — some  of 
that  fruit  for  M.  Muller  I  believe." 

"If  she  has  any  fault,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  "it  is  want  of 
pride, — but  I  don't  know — I  can't  say  I  wish  she  had  more 
of  it." 

"  0  no,  of  course  !  I  suppose  not.  And  it  doesn't  take 
anything  at  all  to  make  the  tears  come  in  her  eyes  ;  the  other 
day  I  didn't  know  whether  to  laugh  or  be  vexed  at  the  way 
she  went  on  with  a  kitten,  for  half  an  hour  or  more.  1  wish 
you  had  seen  her !  I  am  not  sure  she  didn't  cry  over  that. 
Now  I  suppose  the  next  thing,  brother,  you  will  go  and  make 
her  a  present  of  one." 

"  If  you  have  no  heavier  charges  to  bring,"  said  Mr.  Lind- 
say smiling,  "  I'll  take  breath  and  think  about  it." 

"  But  she  isn't  like  anybody  else, — she  don't  care  for 
young  companions, — she  don't  seem  to  fancy  any  one  out  of 
the  family  unless  it  is  old  Mrs.  Allen,  and  she  is  absurd  about 
her.  You  know  she  is  not  very  well  lately,  and  Ellen  goes  to 
see  her  I  know  every-day,  regularly  ;  and  there  are  the  Gor- 
dons and  Carpenters  and  Murrays  and  Mclntoshes — she  sees 
them  continually,  but  I  don't  think  she  takes  a  great  deal  of 
pleasure  in  their  company.    The  fact  is,  she  is  too  sober." 

"  She  has  as  sweet  a  smile  as  I  ever  saw,"  said  Mr.  Lind- 
say,— "  and  as  hearty  a  laugh,  when  she  does  laugh  ;  she  is 
none  of  your  gigglers." 

"  But  when  she  does  laugh,"  said  Lady  Keith,  "  it  is  not 
when  other  people  do.  1  think  she  is  generally  grave  when 
there  is  most  merriment  around  her." 

"  I  love  to  hear  her  laugh,"  said  Mrs.  Lindsay  ;  "  it  is  in 


306 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


Bucli  a  low  sweet  tone,  and  seems  to  come  so  from  the  very 
gpring  of  enjoyment.  Yet  1  must  say  I  think  Catherine  is 
half  right." 

"  With  half  an  advocate,"  said  Lady  Keith,  "  I  shall  not 
effect  much." 

Mr.  Lindsay  uttered  a  low  whistle.  At  this  moment  the 
door  opened,  and  Ellen  came  gravely  in,  with  a  book  in  her 
hand. 

*'  Come  here,  Ellen,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay  holding  out  his 
hand, — "  here's  your  aunt  says  you  don't  like  anybody — how 
is  it  ?  are  you  of  an  unsociable  disposition  ?" 

Ellen's  smile  would  have  been  a  sufficient  apology  to  him 
for  a  much  graver  fault. 

"  Anybody  out  of  the  house,  I  meant,"  said  Lady  Keith. 

"  Speak,  Ellen,  and  clear  yourself,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay. 
I  like  some  people,"  said  Ellen  smihng  ; — "  I  don't  think 
I  like  a  great  many  people  very  much." 

*'  But  you  don't  like  young  people,"  said  Lady  Keith, — 
that  is  what  I  complain  of;  and  it's  unnatural.  Now 
there's  the  other  day,  when  you  went  to  ride  with  Miss 
Gordon  and  her  brother,  and  Miss  MacPherson  and  her  bro- 
ther— I  heard  you  say  you  were  not  sorry  to  get  home. 
Now  where  will  you  find  pleasanter  young  people  ?" 

"  Why  don't  you  like  them,  Ellen  ?"  said  Mrs.  Lindsay. 

"I  do  like  them,  ma'am,  tolerably." 

"  W^hat  does  '  tolerably  '  mean  ?" 
I  should  have  hked  my  ride  better  the  other  day,"  said 
Ellen,  "  if  they  had  talked  about  sensible  things." 

Nonsense  !"  said  Lady  Keith.  Society  cannot  be  made 
up  of  M.  Mullers." 

"  What  did  they  talk  about,  Ellen  ?"  said  Mr.  Lindsay, 
who  seemed  amused. 

"  About  partners  in  dancing, — at  least  the  ladies  did, — and 
dresses,  and  different  gentlemen,  and  what  this  one  said  and 
the  other  one  said, — it  wasn't  very  amusing  to  me." 

Mr,  Lindsay  laughed.  And  the  gentlemen,  Ellen  ;  how 
did  you  like  them  ?" 

*'  I  didn't  like  them  particularly,  sir." 

"  What  have  you  against  them,  Ellen  ?" 

"  I  don't  wish  to  say  anything  against  them,  aunt  Keith.'* 
Come,  come, — speak  out." 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


307 


*'  I  didn't  like  their  talking,  sir,  any  better  than  the  ladies'  • 
and  besides  that,  I  don't  think  they  are  very  polite," 

"  Why  not?"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  highly  amused. 

"  I  don't  think  it  was  very  pohte,"  said  Ellen,  "  for  them 
to  sit  still  on  their  horses  when  I  went  out,  and  let  Brock. esby 
lielp  me  to  mount.  They  took  me  up  at  M.  Muller's,  you 
know,  sir ;  M.  Muller  had  been  obliged  to  go  out  and  leave 
me." 

Mr.  Lindsay  threw  a  glance  at  his  sister  which  she  rather 
resented. 

"  And  pray  what  do  you  expect,  Ellen  ?"  said  she.  "  You 
are  a  mere  child — do  you  think  you  ought  to  be  treated  as  a 
woman  ?" 

"  I  don't  wish  to  be  treated  as  anything  but  a  child,  aunt 
Keith." 

But  Ellen  remembered  well  one  day  at  home  when  John 
had  been  before  the  door  on  horseback  and  she  had  lun  out 
to  give  him  a  message, — his  instantly  dismounting  to  hear 
it.  "  And  I  was  more  a  child  then,"  she  thought, — "  and  he 
wasn't  a  stranger." 

Whom  do  you  like  Ellen  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Lindsay,  w^ho 
looked  extremely  satisfied  with  the  result  of  the  examination. 

"  I  like  M.  Muller,  sir." 

"  Nobody  else  ?" 

"  Mrs.  Allen." 

"  There  !"  exclaimed  Lady  Keith. 
Have  you  come  from  her  room  just  now  ?" 
Yes  sir." 

"  What's  your  fancy  for  going  there  ?" 
*'  I  like  to  hear  her  talk,  sir,  and  to  read  to  her ;  it  gives 
her  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  ;— ^and  I  like  to  talk  to  her." 
"  What  do  you  talk  about?" 
"  She  talks  to  me  about  my  mother" — 
"  And  you  ?" 

"  I  like  to  talk  to  her  about  old  times,"  said  Ellen,  chang- 
ing color. 

"  Profitable  conversation  !"  said  Mrs.  Lindsay. 
"  You  will  not  go  to  her  room  any  more,  Ellen,"  said  Mr. 
Lindsay. 

In  grfeat  dismay  at  what  Mrs.  Allen  would  think,  Elleu 
began  a  remonstrance.    But  only  one  word  was  uttered ; 


308 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


Mr.  Lindsay's  hand  was  upon  her  Jps.  He  next  took  the 
book  she  still  held. 

"  Is  this  what  you  have  been  reading  to  her?" 

Ellen  bowed  in  answer. 

"  Who  wrote  all  this  ?" 

Before  she  could  speak  he  had  turned  to  the  front  leaf 
and  read,  "  To  my  little  sister."  He  quietly  put  the  book  in 
his  pocket ;  and  Ellen  as  quietly  left  the  room. 

*'  I  am  glad  you  have  said  that,"  said  Lady  Keith.  "  You 
are  quick  enough  when  you  see  anything  for  yourself,  but  you 
never  will  believe  other  people." 

"  There  is  nothing  wrong  here,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay, — "  only 
I  will  not  have  her  going  back  to  those  old  recollections  she 
is  so  fond  of.    I  wish  1  could  make  her  drink  Lethe !" 

*'  What  is  the  book  ?"  said  Mrs.  Lindsay. 

"  I  hardly  know,"  said  he,  turning  it  over, — "  except  it 
is  from  that  person  that  •  seems  to  have  obtained  such  an 
ascendancy  over  her — it  is  full  of  his  notes — it  is  a  religious 
work." 

"  She  reads  a  great  deal  too  much  of  that  sort  of  thing," 
said  Mrs.  Lindsay.  I  wish  you  would  contrive  to  put  a  stop 
to  it.  You  can  do  it  better  than  any  one  else ;  she  is  very 
fond  of  you." 

That  was  not  a  good  argument.  Mr.  Lindsay  was  silent ; 
his  thoughts  went  back  to  the  conversation  held  that  evening 
in  Ellen's  room,  and  to  certain  other  things  ;  and  perhaps  he 
was  thinking  that  if  religion  had  m.uch  to  do  with  making 
her  what  she  was,  it  was  a  tree  that  bore  good  fruits. 

"  I  think,"  said  Lady  Keith,  "  that  is  one  reason  why  she 
takes  so  little  to  the  young  people  she  sees.  I  have  seen  her 
sit  perfectly  grave  when  they  were  all  laughing  and  talking 
around  her — it  really  looks  singular — I  don't  like  it — I  pre- 
sume she  would  have  thought  it  wicked  to  laugh  with  them. 
And  the  other  night ; — I  missed  her  from  the  younger  part 
of  the  company,  where  she  should  Iiave  been,  and  there  she 
was  in  the  other  room  with  M,  Muller  and  somebody  el&i3, — 
gravely  listening  to  their  conversation !" 

I  saw  her,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay  smiling, — "  and  she  looked 
anything  but  dull  or  sober.  I  would  rather  have  her  gra>ity, 
after  all,  Catherine,  than  anybody  else's  merriment  J  know." 

"  I  wish  she  had  never  been  detained  in  America  after 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


309 


the  time  when  she  should  have  come  to  us,"  said  Mrs. 
Lindsay. 

"  I  wish  the  woman  had  what  she  deserves  that  kept  back 
the  letters  !"  said  Mr.  Lindsay. 

"Yes  indeed  !"  said  his  sister; — "  and  I  have  been  in  con- 
tinual fear  of  a  visit  from  that  very  person  that  you  say  gave 
Ellen  the  book." 

"  He  isn't  here  !"  said  Mr.  Lindsay. 
I  don't  know  where  he  is ; — but  he  was  on  this  side  of 
the  water,  at  the  time  Ellen  came  on ;  so  she  told  me." 

"  I  wish  he  was  in  Egypt !" 

**  I  don't  intend  he  shall  see  her  if  he  comes,"  said  Lady 
Keith,  "  if  I  can  possibly  prevent  it.  I  gave  Porterfield 
orders,  if  any  one  asked  for  her,  to  tell  me  immediately,  and 
not  her  upon  any  account ;  but  nobody  has  come  hitherto, 
and  I  am  in  hopes  none  will." 

Mr.  Lindsay  arose  and  walked  up  and  down  the  room  with 
folded  arms  in  a  very  thoughtful  style. 

Ellen  with  some  difficulty  bore  herself  as  usual  throughout 
the  next  day  and  evening,  though  constantly  on  the  rack  to 
get  possession  of  her  book  again.  It  was  not  spoken  of  nor 
hinted  at.  When  another  morning  came  she  could  stand  it 
no  longer ;  she  went  soon  after  breakfast  into  Mr.  Lindsay's 
study,  where  he  was  writing.  Ellen  came  behind  him  and 
laying  both  her  arms  over  his  shoulders,  said  in  his  ear, 

"  Will  you  let  me  have  my  book  again,  father?" 

A  kiss  was  her  only  answer.    Ellen  waited. 
Go  to  the  bookcases,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay  presently,  "  or  to 
the  bookstore,  and  choose  out  anything  you  like,  Ellen,  in- 
stead." 

"  I  wouldn't  exchange  it  for  all  that  is  in  them  !"  she  an- 
swered with  some  warmth,  and  with  the  husky  feeling  com- 
ing in  her  throat.    Mr.  Lindsay  said  nothing. 

"  At  any  rate,"  whispered  Ellen  after  a  minute,  "  you  will 
not  destroy  it,  or  do  anything  to  it  ? — you  will  take  care  of 
it  and  let  me  have  it  again,  won't  you,  sir?" 

"  I  will  try  to  take  care  of  you,  my  daughter." 

Again  Ellen  paused  ;  and  then  came  round  in  front  of  him 
to  plead  to  more  purpose. 

I  will  do  anything  in  the  world  for  you,  sir,"  she  said 
Earnestly,  "  if  you  will  give  me  my  book  again." 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


**  You  must  do  anything  in  the  world  for  me,"  said  he» 
Bmihng  and  pincliing  her  cheek, — "  without  that." 

But  it  is  mine  !"  Ellen  ventured  to  urge,  though  tremb- 

"  Come,  come  !"  said  Mr.  Lindsay,  his  tone  changing, — 
*'  and  you  are  mine,  you  must  understand." 

Ellen  stood  silent,  struggling,  between  the  alternate  surg- 
ings  of  passion  and  checks  of  prudence  and  conscience.  But 
at  last  the  wave  rolled  too  high  and  broke.  Clasping  her 
hands  to  her  face,  she  exclaimed,  not  indeed  violently,  but 
with  sufficient  energy  of  expression,  0  it's  not  right ! — it's 
not  right !" 

Go  to  your  room  and  consider  of  that,"  said  Mr.  Lind' 
say.    "  I  do  not  wish  to  see  you  again  to-day,  Ellen." 

Ellen  was  wretched.  Not  from  grief  at  her  loss  merely ; 
that  she  could  have  borne ;  that  had  not  even  the  greatest 
share  in  her  distress ;  she  was  at  war  with  herself.  Her 
mind  was  in  a  perfect  turmoil.  She  had  been  a  passionate 
child  in  earlier  days  ;  under  religion's  happy  reign  that  had 
long  ceased  to  be  true  of  her ;  it  was  only  very  rarely  that 
she  or  those  around  her  were  led  to  remember  or  suspect 
that  it  had  once  been  the  case.  She  was  surprised  and  half 
frightened  at  herself  now,  to  find  the  strength  of  the  old 
temper  suddenly  roused.  She  was  utterly  and  exceedingly 
out  of  humor  with  Mr.  Lindsay,  and  consequently  with  every- 
body and  everything  else ;  consequently,  conscience  would 
not  give  her  a  moment's  peace  ;  consequently,  that  day  was 
a  long  and  bitter  fight  betwixt  right  and  wrong.  Duties  were 
neglected,  because  she  could  not  give  her  mind  to  them ; 
then  they  crowded  upon  her  notice  at  undue  times  ;  all  was 
miserable  confusion.  In  vain  she  would  try  to  reason  and 
school  herself  into  right  feeling  ;  at  one  thought  of  her  lost 
treasure  passion  would  come  flooding  up  and  drown  all  her 
reasonings  and  endeavors.    She  grew  absolutely  weary. 

But  the  day  passed  and  the  night  came,  and  she  went  to 
bed  without  being  able  to  make  up  her  mind  ;  and  she  arose 
in  the  morning  to  renew  the  battle. 

"  How  long  is  this  miserable  condition  to  last !"  she  said 
to  herself.  "  Till  you  can  entirely  give  up  your  feeling  of 
resentment,  and  apologize  to  Mr.  Lindsay,"  said  conscience. 
*'  Apologize ! — but  I  haven't  done  wrong."  "  Yes,  you  have/ 


T«E   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


311 


said  conscience;  "you  spoke  improperly;  he  is  justly  dis- 
pleased ;  and  you  must  make  an  apology  before  there  can  be 
any  peace."  "  But  I  said  the  truth — it  is  not  right — it  is  not 
right !  it  is  wrong  ;  and  am  /  to  go  and  make  an  apology  ! — 
I  can't  do  it."  "  Yes,  for  the  wrong  you  have  done,"  said 
conscience, —  "that  is  all  your  'concern.  And  he  has  a  right 
to  do  what  he  pleases  with  you  and  yours,  and  he  may  have 
his  own  reasons  for  what  he  has  done  ;  and  he  loves  you  very 
much,  and  you  ought  not  to  let  him  remain  displeased  with 
you  one  moment  longer  than  you  can  help — he  is  in  the  place 
of  a  father  to  you,  and  you  owe  him  a  child's  duty." 

But  pride  and  passion  still  fought  against  reason  and  con- 
science, and  Ellen  was  miserable.    The  dressing-bell  rang. 

"  There  !  I  shall  have  to  go  down  to  breakfast  directly, 
and  they  will  see  how  I  look, — they  will  see  I  am  angry  and 
ill-humored.  Well,  I  ought  to  be  angry  !  But  what  will 
they  think  then  of  my  rehgion  ? — is  my  rushlight  burning 
bright  ?  am  I  honoring  Christ  now  ? — is  this  the  way  to 
make  his  name  and  his  truth  lovely  in  their  eyes  ?  Oh  shame  ! 
shame  ! — 1  have  enough  to  humble  myself  for.  And  all 
yesterday,  at  any  rate,  they  know  I  was  angry." 

Ellen  threw  herself  upon  her  knees  ;  and  when  she  rose 
up  the  spirit  of  pride  was  entirely  broken,  and  resentment 
had  died  with  self- justification. 

The  breakfast-bell  rang  before  she  was  quite  ready.  She 
was  afraid  she  could  not  see  Mr.  Lindsay  until  he  should  be 
at  the  table.  "  But  it  shall  make  no  difference,"  she  said  to 
herself, — "  they  know  I  have  offended  him — it  is  right  they 
should  hear  what  I  have  to  say." 

They  were  all  at  the  table.  But  it  made  no  difference. 
Ellen  went  straight  to  Mr.  Lindsay,  and  laying  one  hand 
timidly  in  his  and  the  other  on  his  shoulder,  she  at  once 
humbly  and  frankly  confessed  that  she  had  spoken  as  she 
ought  not  the  day  before,  and  that  she  was  very  sorry  she 
had  displeased  him,  and  begged  his  forgiveness.  It  was  in- 
stantly granted. 

"  You  are  a  good  child,  Ellen,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay  as  he 
fondly  embraced  her. 

"  Oh  no,  sir  ! — don't  call  me  so — I  am  everything  in  the 
world  but  that." 


312 


THE  WIDE,  "WIDE  WORLD. 


"  Then  all  the  rest  of  the  world  are  good  children.  Why 
didn't  you  come  to  me  before?" 

"  Because  I  couldn't  sir  ; — I  felt  wrong  all  da}^  yesterday." 

Mr.  Lindsay  laughed  and  kissed  her,  and  bade  her  sit  down 
and  eat  her  breakfast. 

It  was  about  a  month  after  this  that  he  made  her  a  pre- 
sent of  a  beautiful  little  watch.  Ellen's  first  look  was  of 
great  delight ;  the  second  was  one  of  curious  doubtful  expres- 
sion, directed  to  his  face,  half  tendering  the  watch  back  to 
him  as  she  saw  that  he  understood  her. 

'*  Why,"  said  he  smiling,  *'  do  you  mean  to  say  you 
would  rather  have  that  than  this  ?" 

"  A  great  deal !" 

"  No,"  said  he,  hanging  the  watch  round  her  neck, — "  you 
shall  not  have  it ;  but  you  may  make  your  mind  easy,  for  I 
have  it  safe,  and  it  shall  come  back  to  you  again  some  time 
or  other." 

With  this  promise  Ellen  was  obliged  to  be  satisfied. 

The  summer  passed  in  the  enjoyment  of  all  that  wealth,  of 
purse  and  of  affection  both,  could  bestow  upon  their  darling. 
Early  in  the  season  the  family  returned  to  the  Braes.  Ellen 
liked  it  there  much  better  than  in  the  city  ;  there  w^as  more 
that  reminded  her  of  old  times.  The  sky  and  the  land, 
though  different  from  those  she  best  loved,  were  yet  but 
another  expression  of  nature's  face ;  it  was  the  same  face 
still ;  and  on  many  a  sunbeam  Ellen  traveled  across  the 
Atlantic*  She  was  sorry  to  lose  M.  Muller,  but  she  could 
not  have  kept  him  in  Edinburgh ;  he  quitted  Scotland  about 
that  time. 

Other  masters  attended  her  in  the  country,  or  she  went 
to  Edinburgh  to  attend  them.  Mr.  Lindsay  liked  that  very 
well ;  he  was  often  there  himself,  and  after  her  lesson  he 
loved  to  have  her  with  him  in  the  library  and  at  dinner  and 
during  the  drive  home.  Ellen  liked  it  because  it  was  so 
pleasant  to  him  ;  and  besides,  there  was  a  variety  about  it, 
and  the  drives  were  always  her  delight,  and  she  chose  his 
company  at  any  time  rather  than  that  of  her  aunt  and  grand- 
mother.   So,  many  a  happy  day  that  summer  had  she  and 


•  "  Then  by  a  sunbeam  I  will  climb  to  thee  "— George  Herbert. 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


313 


Mr.  Lindsay  together ;  and  many  an  odd  pleasure  in  the 
course  of  them  did  he  find  or  make  for  her.  Sometimes  it 
was  a  new  book,  sometimes  a  new  sight,  sometimes  a  new 
trinket.  According  to  his  promise,  he  had  purchased  her  a 
fine  horse ;  cjnd  almo>t  daily  Ellen  was  upon  his  back,  and 
with  Mr.  Lindsay  in  the  course  of  the  summer  scoured  the 
country  far  and  near.  Every  scene  of  any  historic  interest 
within  a  good  distance  of  tlie  Braes  "  was  visited,  and  some 
of  them  again  and  again.  Pleasures  of  all  kinds  were  at 
Ellen's  disposal  ;  and  to  her  father  and  grandmother  she  was 
truly  the  light  of  the  eyes. 

And  Ellen  was  happy  ;  but  it  was  not  all  these  things, 
nor  even  her  affection  for  Mr.  Lindsay,  that  made  her  so. 
He  saw  her  calm  sunshiny  face  and  busy  happy  demeanor, 
and  fancied,  though  he  had  sometimes  doubts  about  it,  that 
she  did  not  trouble  herself  much  with  old  recollections,  or 
would  in  time  get  over  them.  It  was  not  so.  Ellen  never 
forgot ;  and  sometimes  when  she  seemed  busiest  and  happi- 
est, it  was  the  thought  of  an  absent  and  distant  friend  that 
was  nerving  her  energies  and  giving  color  to  her  cheek.  Still, 
as  at  first,  it  was  in  her  hour  alone  that  Ellen  laid  down  care 
and  took  up  submission  ;  it  was  that  calmed  her  brow  and 
brightened  her  smile.  And  though  now  and  then  she  shed 
bitter  tears,  and  repeated  her  despairing  exclamation,  "  Well ! 
I  will  see  him  in  heaven  !" — in  general  she  lived  on  hope, 
and  kept  at  the  bottom  of  her  heart  some  of  her  old  feeling 
of  confidence. 

Perhaps  her  brow  grew  somewhat  meeker  and  her  smile 
less  bright  as  the  year  rolled  on.  Months  flew  by,  and 
brought  her  no  letters.  Ellen  marveled  and  sorrowed  in 
vain.  One  day  mourning  over  it  to  Mrs.  Allen,  the  good 
housekeeper  asked  her  if  her  friends  knew  her  address  ?  El- 
len at  first  said  "  to  be  sure,"  but  after  a  few  minutes'  reflec- 
tion was  obliged  to  confess  that  she  was  not  certain  about  it. 
It  would  have  been  just  like  Mr.  Humphreys  to  lose  sight 
entirely  of  such  a  matter,  and  very  natural  for  her,  in  her 
grief  and  confusion  of  mind  and  inexperience,  to  be  equally 
forgetful.  She  wrote  immmediately  to  Mr.  Humphreys  and 
supplied  the  defect ;  and  hope  brightened  again.  Once  be- 
fore she  had  written,  on  the  occasion  of  the  refunding  her 
expenses.  Mr.  Lindsay  and  his  mother  were  very  prompt  to 
VOL.  II.  14 


314 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  tVORLD. 


do  this,  though  Ellen  could  not  tell  what  the  exact  amount 
might  be ;  they  took  care  to  be  on  the  safe  side,  and  sent 
more  than  enough.  Ellen's  mind  had  changed  since  she 
came  to  Scotland  ;  she  was  sorry  to  have  the  money  go ;  she 
understood  the  feeling  with  which  it  was  sent,  and  it  hurt 
her. 

Two  or  three  months  after  the  date  of  her  last  letter,  she 
received  at  length  one  from  Mr.  Humphreys,  a  long,  very 
kind,  and  very  wise  one.  She  lived  upon  it  for  a  good  while. 
Mr.  Lindsay's  bills  were  returned.  Mr.  Humphreys  declined 
utterly  to  accept  of  them,  telling  Ellen  that  he  looked  upon 
her  as  his  own  child  up  to  the  time  that  her  friends  took  her 
out  of  his  hands,  and  that  he  owed  her  more  than  she  owed 
him.  Ellen  gave  the  money,  she  dared  not  give  the  whole 
message,  to  Mr.  Lindsay.  The  bills  were  instantly  and 
haughtily  re-enclosed  and  sent  back  to  America. 

Still  nothing  was  heard  from  Mr.  John.  Ellen  wondered, 
waited,  wept ;  sadly  quieted  herself  into  submission,  and  as 
time  went  on,  clung  faster  and  faster  to  her  Bible  and  the 
refuge  she  found  there 


CHAPTER  LII. 


Hon. — Why  didn't  you  show  him  up,  block.  «ad  1 
Butler. — Show  him  up,  sir  ?   With  all  my  leart,  sir. 
Up  or  down,  all's  one  to  me. 

Good  NiiTURED  Man. 

One  evening,  it  was  New  Year's  eve,  a  large  party  was 
expected  at  Mr.  Lindsay's.  Ellen  was  not  of  an  age  to  go 
abroad  to  parties,  but  at  home  her  father  and  grandmother 
never  could  bear  to  do  without  her  when  they  had  company. 
Generally  Ellen  liked  it  very  much ;  not  called  upon  to  take 
any  active  part  herself,  she  had  leisure  to  observe  and  enjoy 
in  quiet ;  and  often  heard  music,  and  often  by  Mr.  Lindsay's 
side  listened  to  conversation,  in  which  she  took  great  pleasure. 
To-night,  however,  it  happened  that  Ellen's  thoughts  were 
running  on  other  things  ;  and  Mrs.  Lindsay's  woman,  who 
had  come  in  to  dress  her,  was  not  at  all  satisfied  with  her 
grave  looks  and  the  little  concern  she  seemed  to  take  in  what 
was  going  on. 

**  I  wish.  Miss  Ellen,  you'd  please  hold  your  head  up,  and 
look  somewhere — I  don't  know  when  I'll  get  your  hair  done 
if  you  keep  it  down  so." 

"  0  Mason,  I  think  that'll  do — it  looks  very  well — you 
needn't  do  anything  more." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  Ellen,  but  you  know  it's  your 
grandmother  that  must  be  satisfied,  and  she  will  have  it  just 
so ; — there, — now  that's  going  to  look  lovely  ; — but  indeed 
Miss  Ellen  she  won't  be  pleased  if  you  carry  such  a  soberish 
face  down  stairs, — and  what  will  the  master  say!  Most 
young  ladies  would  be  as  bright  as  a  bee  at  being  going  to 
see  so  many  people,  and  indeed  it's  what  you  should." 

"  I  had  rather  see  one  or  two  persons  than  one  or  two  hun- 
dred," said  Ellen,  speaking  half  to  herself  and  half  to  Mrs, 
Mason. 


316 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


"  Well  for  pit3''s  sake,  Miss  Ellen,  dear,  if  you  can,  don't 
look  as  if  it  was  a  funeral  it  was.  There  !  'taint  much  trou- 
ble to  fix  YOU,  anyhow — if  you'd  only  care  a  little  more  about 
it,  it  would  be  a  blessing.  Stop  till  I  fix  this  lace.  The 
master  will  call  you  his  white  rose-bud  to-night,  sure 
enouirh." 

"  That's  nothing  new,"  said  Ellen,  half  smiling. 

Mason  left  her  ;  and  feeling  the  want  of  something  to  raise 
her  spints,  Ellen  sorrowfully  went  to  her  Bible,  and  slowly 
turning  it  over,  looked  along  its  pages  to  catch  a  sight  of 
something  cheering  before  she  went  down  stairs. 

*'  This  God  is  our  God  for  ever  and  ever  :  he  will  he  our 
guide  even  unto  death." 

Isn't  that  enough  ?"  thought  Ellen,  as  her  eyes  filled  in 
answer.  "  It  ought  to  be — John  would  say  it  was — oh  I 
where  is  he  !" 

She  went  on  turning  over  leaf  after  leaf. 

"  0  Lord  of  hosts,  blessed  is  the  man  that  trusteth  in 
thee  r 

"That  is  true  surely,"  she  thought.  "And  I  do  trust  in 
him — I  am  blessed — 1  am  happy,  come  what  may.  He  will 
let  nothing  come  to  those  that  trust  in  him  but  what  is  good 
for  them — if  he  is  my  God  I  have  enough  to  make  me  happy 
— I  ought  to  be  happy — I  will  be  happy  ! — I  will  trust  him, 
and  take  what  he  gives  me  ;  and  try  to  leave,  as  John  used  to 
tell  me,  my  affairs  in  his  hand." 

For  a  minute  tears  flowed  ;  then  they  were  wiped  away ; 
and  the  smile  she  gave  Mr.  Lindsay  when  she  met  him  in  the 
hall  was  not  less  bright  than  usual. 

The  company  were  gathered,  but  it  was  still  early  in  the 
evening,  when  a  gentleman  came  who  declined  to  enter  the 
drawing-room,  and  asked  for  Miss  Lindsay. 

"  Miss  Lindsay  is  engaged." 

"  An'  what  for  suld  ye  say  s:ie,  Mr.  Porterfield  ?"  cried  the 
voice  of  the  housekeeper,  who  was  passing  in  the  hall, — 
"  M'hen  ye  ken  as  weel  as  I  do  that  Miss  Ellen  " — 

The  butler  stopped  her  with  saying  something  about  "  my 
lady,"  and  repeated  his  answer  to  the  gentleman. 

The  latter  wrote  a  word  or  two  on  a  card  which  he  drew 
from  his  pocket,  and  desired  him  to  carry  it  to  Miss  Ellen.  He 
cai-ried  it  to  Lady  Keith. 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  ^\  JUL  D. 


317 


"  What  sort  of  a  person,  Porterfield  ?"  said  Lady  Keith, 
crumpling  the  paper  in  her  fingers ;  and  withdrawing  a  little 
from  the  company. 

"  Uncommon  fine  gentleman,  my  lady,"  Porterfield  an- 
swered in  a  low  tone. 

"  A  gentleman  ?"  said  Lady  Keith  inquiringly. 

*'  Certain,  my  lady  ! — and  as  up  and  down  spoken  as  if  he 
was  a  prince  of  the  blood  ;  he's  somebody  that  is  not  accus- 
tomed to  be  said  *  no'  to,  for  sure." 

Lady  Keith  hesitated.  Recollecting  however  that  she  had 
just  left  Ellen  safe  in  the  music-room,  she  made  up  her  mind  ; 
and  desired  Porterfield  to  show  the  stranger  in.  As  he  en- 
tered, unannounced,  her  eyes  unwillingly  verified  the  butler's 
judgment ;  and  to  the  inquiry  whether  he  might  see  Miss 
Lindsay  she  answered  very  politely,  though  with  regrets  that 
Miss  Lindsay  was  engaged. 

"  May  I  be  pardoned  for  asking,"  said  the  stranger,  with 
the  slightest  possible  approach  to  a  smile,  "  whether  that  de- 
cision is  imperative  ?  I  leave  Scotland  to-morrow — my  rea- 
sons for  wishing  to  see  Miss  Lindsay  this  evening  are  urgent." 

Lady  Keith  could  hardly  believe  her  ears,  or  command  her 
countenance  to  keep  company  with  her  expressions  of  "  sor- 
row that  it  was  impossible — Miss  Lindsay  could  not  have  the 
pleasure  that  evening." 

"  May  I  beg  then  to  know  at  what  hour  I  may  hope  to  see 
her  to-morrow  ?" 

Hastily  resolving  that  Ellen  should  on  the  morrow  accept 
a  long-given  invitation.  Lady  Keith  answered  that  she  would 
not  be  in  town — she  would  leave  Edinburgh  at  an  early 
hour." 

The  stranger  bowed  and  withdrew  ;  that  was  all  the  by- 
standers saw.  But  Lady  Keith,  who  had  winced  under  an 
eye  that  she  could  not  help  fancying  read  her  too  well,  saw 
that  in  his  parting  look  which  made  her  uneasy  ;  beckoning 
a  servant  who  stood  near,  she  ordered  him  to  wait  upon  that 
gentleman  to  the  door. 

The  man  obeyed ;  but  the  stranger  did  not  take  his  cloak 
and  made  no  motion  to  go. 

"  No  sir  !  not  that  way,"  he  said  sternly,  as  the  servant 
laid  his  hand  on  the  lock ; — "  show  me  to  Miss  Lindsay  !" 

"  Miss  Ellen  ?"  said  the  man  doubtfully,  coming  back,  and 


318 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


thinking  from  the  gentleman's  manner  that  he  must  have  mis- 
understood Lady  Keith  ; — "  where  is  Miss  Ellen,  Arthur  ?" 

The  person  addressed  threw  his  head  back  towards  the 
door  he  had  just  come  from  on  the  other  side  of  the  hall. 

*'  This  way  sir,  if  you  please, — what  name,  sir?" 

"  No  name — stand  back  !"  said  the  stranger  as  he  entered. 

There  were  a  number  of  people  gathered  round  a  lady  who 
was  at  the  piano  singing.  Ellen  was  there  in  the  midst  of 
them.  The  gentleman  advanced  quietly  to  the  edge  of  the 
group  and  stood  there  without  being  noticed  ;  Ellen's  eyes 
were  bent  on  the  floor.  The  expression  of  her  face  touched 
and  pleased  him  greatly ;  it  was  precisely  what  he  wished  to 
see.  Without  having  the  least  shadow  of  sorrow  upon  it, 
there  was  in  all  its  lines  that  singular  mixture  of  gravity  and 
sweetness  that  is  never  seen  but  where  religion  and  discipline 
have  done  their  work  well ;  the  writing  of  the  wisdom  that 
looks  soberly,  and  the  love  that  looks  kindly,  on  all  things. 
He  was  not  sure  at  first  whether  she  were  intently  listening 
to  the  music,  or  whetlier  her  mind  was  upon  something  far 
different  and  far  away  ;  he  thought  the  latter.  He  was 
right.  Ellen  at  the  moment  had  escaped  from  the  company 
and  the  noisy  sounds  of  the  performer  at  her  side ;  and 
while  her  eye  was  curiousl}^  tracing  out  the  pattern  of  the 
carpet,  her  mind  was  resting  itself  in  one  of  the  verses  she 
had  been  reading  that  same  evening.  Suddenly,  and  as 
it  seemed,  from  no  connection  with  anything  in  or  out 
of  her  thoughts,  there  came  to  her  mind  the  image  of  John 
as  she  had  seen  him  that  first  evening  she  ever  saw  him,  at 
Carra-carra,  when  she  looked  up  from  the  boiling  chocolate 
and  espied  him, — standing  in  an  attitude  of  waiting  near  the 
door.  Ellen  at  first  wondered  how  that  thought  should  have 
come  into  her  head  just  then ;  the  next  moment,  from  a 
sudden  impulse,  she  raised  her  eyes  to  search  for  the  cause, 
and  saw  John's  smile. 

It  would  not  be  easy  to  describe  the  change  in  Ellen's  face. 
Lightning  makes  as  quick  and  as  brilliant  an  illumination,  but 
lightning  does  not  stay.  With  a  spring  she  reached  him,  and 
seizing  both  his  hands  drew  him  out  of  the  door  near  which 
they  were  standing  ;  and  as  soon  as  they  were  hidden  from 
view  threw  herself  into  his  arras  in  an  agony  of  joy.  Before 
however  either  of  them  could  say  a  word,  she  had  caught  his 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD- 


819 


hand  again,  and  led  him  back  along  the  hall  to  the  private 
staircase  ;  she  mounted  it  rapiidly  to  her  room  ;  and  there 
she  again  threw  herself  into  his  arms,  exclaiming,  "  Oh  John ! 
— my  dear  John  !  my  dear  brother  !" 

But  neither  smiles  nor  words  would  do  for  the  overcharged 
heart.  The  tide  of  joy  ran  too  strong,  and  too  much  swelled 
from  the  open  sources  of  love  and  memory,  to  keep  any 
bounds.  And  it  kept  none.  Ellen  sat  down,  and  bowing  hei 
head  on  the  arm  of  the  sofa  wept  with  all  the  vehement  pas- 
sion of  her  childhood,  quivering  from  head  to  foot  with  con- 
vulsive sobs.  John  might  guess  from  the  out-pouring  now 
how  much  her  heart  had  been  secretly  gathering  for  months 
past.  For  a  little  while  he  walked  up  and  down  the  room ; 
but  this  excessive  agitation  he  was  not  willing  should  continue. 
He  said  nothing ;  sitting  down  beside  Ellen  on  the  sofa,  he 
quietly  possessed  himself  of  one  of  her  hands  ;  and  when  in 
her  excitement  the  hand  struggled  to  get  away  again,  it  was 
not  permitted.  Ellen  understood  that  very  well  and  imme- 
diately checked  herself.  Better  than  words,,  the  calm  firm 
grasp  of  his  hand  quieted  her.  Her  sobbing  stilled ;  she 
turned  from  the  arm  of  the  sofa,  and  leaning  her  head  upon  him 
took  his  hand  in  both  hers  and  pressed  it  to  her  lips  as  if  she 
were  half  beside  herself.  But  that  was  not  permitted  to  last 
either,  for  his  hand  quickly  imprisoned  hers  again.  There 
was  silence  still.  Ellen  could  not  look  up  yet,  and  neither 
seemed  very  forward  to  speak ;  she  sat  gradually  quieting 
down  into  fullness  of  happiness. 

I  thought  you  never  would  come,  John,"  at  length  Ellen 
half  whispered,  half  said. 

"  And  I  cannot  stay  now.  I  must  leave  vou  to-morrow, 
Ellie." 

Ellen  started  up  and  looked  up  now. 

Leave  me  !    For  how  long  ?    Where  are  you  going." 
"  Home." 

"  To  America  !" — Ellen's  heart  died  within  her.  Was  this 
the  end  of  all  her  hopes  ?  did  her  confidence  end  here  ?  She 
shed  no  tears  now.  He  could  see  that  she  grew  absolutely 
still  from  intense  feeling. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Elhe  ?"  said  the  low  gentle  tones  she 
so  well  remembered ; — "  I  am  leaving  you  but  for  a  time.  I 
must  go  home  now,  but  if  I  live  you  will  see  me  again." 


320 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


"01  wish  I  was  going  with  you !"  Ellen  exclaimed,  burst- 
ing into  tears. 

"  My  dear  Ellie  !" — said  her  brother  in  an  altered  voice, 
drawing  her  again  to  his  arms, — '''you  cannot  wish  it  more 
than  1  !" 

"  I  never  thought  you  would  leave  me  here,  John." 
Neither  would  I,  if  I  could  help  it ; — neither  will  I  a 
minute  longer  than  I  can  help ;  but  Ave  must  both  wait,  my 
own  Ellie.    Do  not  cry  so,  for  my  sake  !" 

"  Wait  ? — till  when  ?"  said  Ellen,  not  a  little  reassured. 

"  I  have  no  power  now  to  remove  you  from  your  legal 
guardians,  and  you  have  no  right  to  choose  for  yourself." 

"  And  when  shall  I  ?" 

"  In  a  few  years." 

*'  A  few  years  ! — But  in  the  meantime,  John,  w.hat  shall  I 
do  without  you  ? — If  I  could  see  you  once  in  a  while — but 
there  is  no  one  here — not  a  single  one — to  help  me  to  keep 
right ;  no  one  talks  to  me  as  you  used  to  ;  and  I  am  all  the 
while  afraid  I  shall  go  wrong  in  something  ; — what  shall  I 
do  ?" 

"  What  the  weak  must  always  do,  Ellie, — seek  for  strength 
where  it  may  be  had." 

"And  so  I  do,  John,"  said  Ellen  weeping, — but  I  want 
you, — oh  how  much  !" 

"  Are  you  not  happy  here?" 

"  Yes — I  am  happy — at  least  I  thought  I  was  half  an  hour 
ago, — as  happy  as  1  can  be.  I  have  everything  to  make  me 
happy,  except  what  Avould  do  it." 

"  We  must  both  have  recourse  to  our  old  remedy  against 
sorrow  and  loneliness — vou  have  not  forgotten  the  use  of  it, 
Ellie  ?" 

"  No  John,"  said  Ellen,  meeting  his  eyes  with  a  tearful 
smile. 

"  They  love  you  here,  do  they  not  ?" 
**  Very  much — too  much." 
**  And  you  love  them  ?" 
«  Yes." 

"  That's  a  doubtful  '  yes.'  " 

"  I  do  love  my  father — veiy  much  ;  and  my  grandmother 
too,  though  not  so  much.  I  cannot  help  Icving  them, — they 
love  me  so,    But  they  are  so  unlike  you  !" 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


321 


**  That  is  not  much  to  the  purpose,  after  all,"  said  John 
sinihng.    "  There  are  varieties  of  excellence  in  the  world." 

"  0  yes,  but  that  isn't  what  1  mean ;  it  isn't  a  variety  of 
excellence.  They  make  me  do  everything  that  they  have  a 
mind, — I  dont  mean,"  she  added  smiling,  "that  that  is  not 
like  you, — but  you  always  had  a  reason  ;  they  are  different. 
My  father  makes  me  drink  wine  every  now  and  then, — I 
don't  like  to  do  it,  and  he  knows  I  do  not,  and 'I  think  that 
is  the  reason  I  have  to  do  it." 

"  That  is  not  a  matter  of  great  importance,  Ellie,  provided 
they  do  not  make  you  do  something  wrong." 

"  They  could  not  do  that  I  hope ;  and  there  is  another 
thing  they  cannot  make  me  do." 

"  What  is  that  ?" 

"  Stay  here  when  you  will  take  me  away." 

There  was  a  few  minutes'  thoughtful  pause  on  both  sides. 

"  You  are  grown,  Ellie,"  said  John, — "  you  are  not  the 
child  I  left  you." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Ellen  smiling, — "  it  seems  to  me  I 
am  just  the  same." 

"  Let  me  see — look  at  me  !" 

She  raised  her  face,  and  amidst  smiles  and  tears  its  look 
was  not  less  clear  and  frank  than  his  was  penetrating.  Just 
the  same,"  was  the  verdict  of  her  brother's  eyes  a  moment 
afterwards.    Ellen's  smile  grew  bright  as  she  read  it  there. 

"  Why  have  you  never  come  or  written  before,  John  ?" 

"  I  did  not  know  where  you  were.  I  have  not  been  in 
England  for  many  months  till  quite  lately,  and  I  could  not 
get  your  addfess.  I  think  my  father  was  without  it  for  a 
long  time,  and  when  at  last  he  sent  it  to  me,  the  letter  mis- 
carried— never  reached  me — there  were  delays  upon  delays." 

"  And  when  you  did  get  it  ?" 

**  I  preferred  coming  to  writing." 

"  And  now  you  must  go  home  so  soon  !" 

"  I  must,  Ellie.  My  business  has  lingered  on  a  great 
while,  and  it  is  quite  time  I  should  return.  I  expect  to  sail 
next  week — Mrs.  Gillespie  is  going  with  me — her  husband 
^tays  behind  till  spring." 

Ellen  sighed. 

"  I  made  a  friend  of  a  friend  of  yours  whoni  I  met  in 
Switzerland  last  summer — M.  Muller." 
14* 


822 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  W^ORLD. 


"  M.  Muller !  did  you !  0  I'm  very  glad  !•  I  am  very  glad 
you  know  him — he  is  the  best  friend  I  have  got  here,  after 
my  father.  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have  done  without 
him." 

"  I  have  heard  him  talk  of  you,"  said  John  smiling. 

"  He  has  just  come  back ;  he  was  to  be  here  this  evening." 

There  was  a  pause  again. 

"  It  does  not  seem  right  to  go  home  without  you  Ellie," 
said  her  brother  then.  I  think  you  belong  to  me  more 
than  to  anybody." 

That  is  exactly  what  I  think !"  said  Ellen  with  one  of 
her  bright  looks,  and  then  bursting  into  tears ; — "  I  am  very 
glad  you  think  so  too !  I  will  always  do  whatever  you  tell 
me — ^just  as  I  used  to — no  matter  what  anybody  else  says." 
Perhaps  I  shall  try  you  in  two  or  three  things,  Ellie." 

"  Will  you !  in  what  ?  0  it  would  make  me  so  happy — so 
much  happier — if  I  could  be  doing  something  to  please  you. 
I  wish  I  was  at  home  with  you  again  !" 

"  I  will  bring  that  about,  Ellie,  by-and-by,  if  you  make 
your  words  good." 

"  I  shall  be  happy  then,"  said  Ellen,  her  old  confidence 
standing  stronger  than  ever, — "  because  I  know  you  will  if 
you  say  so.  Though  how  you  will  manage  it  I  cannot  con- 
ceive. My  father  and  grandmother  and  aunt  cannot  bear  to 
hear  me  speak  of  America  ;  I  believe  they  would  be  glad  if 
there  wasn't  such  a  place  in  the  world.  They  would  not 
even  let  me  think  of  it  if  they  could  help  it ;  I  never  dare 
mention  your  name,  or  say  a  word  about  old  times.  They 
are  afraid  of  my  loving  anybody  I  believe.  -They  want  to 
have  me  all  to  themselves." 

What  will  they  say  to  you  then,  Ellie,  if  you  leave  them 
to  give  yourself  to  me  ?" 

"  I  cannot  help  it,"  replied  Ellen, — they  must  say  what 
they  please  ;" — and  with  abundance  of  energy,  and  not  a  few 
tears,  she  went  on  ; — "  I  love  them,  but  J  had  given  myself 
to  you  a  great  while  ago  ;  long  before  I  was  his  daughter, 
you  called  me  your  little  sister — I  can't  undo  that,  John,  and 
I  don't  want  to — it  doesn't  make  a  bit  of  difference  that  we 
were  not  born  so !" 

John  suddenly  rose  and  began  to  walk  up  and  do^vn  the 
room.    Ellen  soon  came  to  his  side,  and  leaning  upon  his 


THE    VIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


823 


arm  as  she  had  been  used  to  do  in  past  times,  walked  up  and 
down  with  him,  at  first  silently. 

"What  is  it  you  wanted  me  to  do,  John?"  she  said  gently 
at  length  ; — "  you  said  '  two  or  three  things.'  " 

"  One  is  that  you  keep  up  a  regular  and  full  correspond- 
ence with  me." 

"  I  am  very  glad  you  will  let  me  do  that,"  said  Ellen, — • 
'*  that  is  exactly  what  I  should  like,  but — " 

"  What?" 

"  I  am  afraid  they  will  not  let  me." 
"  I  will  arrange  that." 

"Very  well,"  said  Ellen  joyously, — "then  it  will  do.  O 
it  would  make  me  so  happy  !    And  you  will  write  to  me  ?" 
"  Certainly  ! 

"  And  I  will  tell  you  everything  about  myself ;  and  you 
will  tell  me  how  I  ought  to  do  in  all  sorts  of  things  ?  that 
will  be  next  best  to  being  with  you.  And  then  you  will  keep 
me  right," 

"  I  won't  promise  you  that  Ellie,"  said  John  smiling ; — 
"you  must  learn  to  keep  yourself  right." 

"  I  know  you  will,  though,  however  you  may  smile.  W^hat 
next?" 

"  Read  no  novels." 

"  I  never  do  John.  I  knew  you  did  not  like  it,  and  I  have 
taken  good  care  to  keep  out  of  the  way  of  them.  If  I  had 
told  anybody  why,  though,  they  would  have  made  me  read  a 
dozen." 

"  Why  Ellie  !"  said  her  brother, — "  you  must  need  some 
care  to  keep  a  straight  line  Avhere  your  course  lies  now." 

"  Indeed  I  do,  John,"  said  Ellen,  her  eyes  filling  with  tears, 
— "  oh  how  I  have  felt  that  sometimes  !  And  then  how  I 
wanted  you !" 

Her  hand  was  fondly  taken  in  his,  as  many  a  time  it  had 
been  of  old,  and  for  a  long  time  they  paced  up  and  down ; 
the  conversation  running  sometimes  in  the  strain  that  both 
loved  and  Ellen  now  never  heard ;  sometimes  on  other  mat- 
ters ;  such  a  conversation  as  those  she  had  lived  upon  in 
former  days,  and  now  drank  in  with  a  delight  and  eagerness 
inexpressible.  Mr.  Lindsay  would  have  been  in  dismay  to 
have  seen  her  upUfted  face, -which,  though  tears  were  many 
a  time  there,  was  sparkling  and  glowing  with  life  and  joy  in 


824 


THE   WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


a  manner  lie  had  never  known  it.  •  She  alnr.ost  forgot  what 
the  morrow  would  bring,  in  the  exquisite  pleasure  of  the 
instant,  and  hung  upon  every  word  and  look  of  her  brother 
as  if  her  life  were  there. 

"And  in  a  few  weeks,"  said  Ellen  at  length,  you  will 
be  in  our  old  dear  sitting-room  again,  and  riding  on  the  Black 
Prince  ! — and  1  shall  be  here  ! — and  it  will  be — 

"  It  will  be  empty  without  you,  Ellie  ; — but  we  have  a 
friend  that  is  sufficient ;  let  us  love  him  and  be  patient." 

"  It  is  very  hard  to  be  patient,"  murmured  Ellen.  "  But 
dear  John  there  was  something  else  you  wanted  me  to  do  ? 
what  is  it  ?  you  said  '  two  or  three  '  things." 

**  I  will  leave  that  to  another  time." 

"  But  why  ?  I  will  do  it  whatever  it  be — pray  tell  me." 

"No,"  said  he  smiling, — "not  now, — you  shall  know 
by-and-by — the  time  is  not  yet.  Have  you  heard  of  your 
old  friend  Mr.  Van  Brunt  ?" 

"  No— what  of  him  ?" 

**  He  has  come  out  before  the  world  as  a  Christian  man." 
"  Has  he !" 

John  took  a  letter  from  his  porket  and  opened  it. 

"  You  may  see  what  my  father  says  of  him  ;  and  what  he 
sa3'S  of  you  too,  Ellie  ; — he  has  missed  you  much." 

"  0. 1  was  afraid  he  would,"  said  Ellen, — "  I  was  sure  he 
did !" 

She  took' the  letter,  but  she  could  not  see  the  words.  John 
told  her  she  might  keep  it  to  read  at  her  leisure. 

"  And  how  are  they  all  at  Ventnor  ?  and  how  is  Mrs. 
Vawse  ?  and  Margery  ?" 

"All  well.  Mrs.  Vawse  spends  about  half  her  time  at 
my  father's." 

"  I  am  very  glad  of  that  !" 

"  Mrs.  Marshman  wrcle  me  to  bring  you  back  witli  me  if 
1  could,  and  said  she  had  a  home  for  yc  .i  always  at  Ventnor." 

"  How  kind  she  is,"  said  Ellen; —  'how  many  friends  I 
find  everywhere.  It  seems  to  me,  John,  that  everybody 
almost  loves  me." 

"  That  is  a  singular  circumstance  !  However,  I  am  no  ex- 
ce])tion  to  the  rule,  Ellie." 

"01  know  that,"  said  Ellen  laughing.  "  And  Mr. 
George  ?" 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


325 


"  Mr.  George  is  well." 

"  How  much  I  love  him  !"  said  Ellen.  "  How  much  I 
would  give  to  see  him.  I  wish  you  could  tell  me  about  poor 
Captain  and  the  Brownie,  but  I  don't  suppose  you  have  heard 
of  them.  0  when  I  think  of  it  all  at  home,  how  I  want  to 
be  there  ! — Oh  John  !  sometimes  lately  I  have  almost  thought 
I  should  only  see  you  again  in  heaven." 

"  My  dear  Ellie  !  I  shall  see  you  there,  I  trust ;  but  if  we 
live  we  shall  spend  our  lives  here  together  first.  And  while 
we  are  parted  we  will  keep  as  near  as  possible  by  praying  for 
and  writing  to  each  other.*  And  what  God  orders  let  us 
quietly  submit  to." 

Ellen  had  much  ado  to  command  herself  at  the  tone  of 
these  words  and  John's  manner,  as  he  clasped  her  in  his 
arms  and  kissed  her  brow  and  lips.  She  strove  to  keep 
back  a  show  of  feeling  that  would  distress  and  might  dis- 
please him.  But  the  next  moment  her  fluttering  spirits  were 
stilled  by  hearing  the  few  soft  words  of  a  prayer  that  he 
breathed  over  her  head.  It  was  a  prayer  for  her  and  for  him- 
self, and  one  of  its  petitions  was  that  they  might  be  kept  to  see 
each  other  again.    Ellen  wrote  the  words  on  her  heart. 

"Are  you  going !" 

He  showed  his  watch. 

"  Well  I  shall  see  you  to-morrow  ?" 

"  Shall  you  be  here  ?" 
Certainly — where  else  should  I  be  ?    What  time  must 
you  set  out  ?" 

"  I  need  not  till  afternoon,  but — How  early  can  1  see 
you  ?" 

"  As  early  as  you  please.    0  spend  all  the  time  with  me 
you  can,  John  !" 
So  it  was  arranged. 

"  And  now  Ellie,  you  must  go  down  stairs  and  present  me 
to  Mr.  Lindsay." 
"  To  my  father  !" 

For  a  moment  Ellen's  face  was  a  compound  of  expressions. 
She  instantly  acquiesced  however,  and  went  down  with  her 
brother,  her  heart  it  must  be  confessed  going  very  pit-a-pat 
indeed.  She  took  him  into  the  library,  which  was  not  this  even- 
ing thrown  open  to  company  ;  and  sent  a  servant  for  Mr.  Lind- 
say.   While  waiting  for  his  coming,  Ellen  felt  as  if  she  had 


326 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


not  the  fair  use  of  her  senses.  Was  that  John  Humphreys 
quietly  walking  up  and  down  the  library  ?  Mr.  Lindsay's 
library  ?  and  was  she  about  to  introduce  her  brother  to  the 
Derson  who  had  forbidden  her  to  mention  his  name  ?  There 
was  something  however  in  Mr.  John's  figure  and  air,  in  his 
utter  coolness,  that  insensibly  restored  her  spirits.  Triumphant 
confidence  in  him  overcame  the  fear  of  Mr.  Lindsay ;  and 
when  he  appeared,  Ellen  with  tolerable  composure  met  him, 
her  hand  upon  John's  arm,  and  said,  "  Father,  this  is  Mr. 
Humphreys," — my  brother  she  dared  not  add. 

"  1  hope  Mr.  Lindsay  will  pardon  my  giving  him  this  trou- 
ble," said  the  latter  ; — **  we  have  one  thing  in  common  which 
should  forbid  our  being  strangers  to  each  other.  I,  at  least, 
was  unwilling  to  leave  Scotland  without  making  myself  known 
to  Mr.  Lindsay." 

Mr.  Lindsay  most  devoutly  wished  the  "  thing  in  common" 
had  been  anything  else.  He  bowed,  and  was  "  happy  to 
have  the  pleasure,"  but  evidently  neither  pleased  nor  happy. 
Ellen  could  see  that. 

"  May  I  take  up  five  minutes  of  Mr.  Lindsay's  time  to 
explain,  perhaps  to  apologize,"  said  John,  slightly  smiling, — 
*'  for  what  I  have  said  ?" 

A  little  ashamed,  it  might  be,  to  have  his  feehng  suspect- 
ed, Mr.  Lindsay  instantly  granted  the  request,  and  politely 
invited  his  unwelcome  guest  to  be  seated.  Obeying  a  glance 
from  her  brother  which  she  understood,  Ellen  withdrew  to 
the  further  side  of  the  room,  where  she  could  not  hear  what 
they  said.  John  took  up  the  history  of  Ellen's  acquaintance 
with  his  family,  and  briefly  gave  it  to  Mr.  Lindsay,  scarce 
touching  upon  the  benefits  by  them  conferred  on  her,  and 
skillfully  dwelling  rather  on  Ellen  herself  and  setting  forth 
what  she  had  been  to  them.  Mr.  Lindsay  could  not  be  un- 
conscious of  what  his  visitor  delicately  omitted  to  hint  at, 
neither  could  he  help  making  secretly  to  himself  some  most 
unwilling  admissions  ;  and  though  he  might  wish  the  speaker 
at  the  antipodes,  and  doubtless  did,  yet  the  sketch  was  too 
happily  given,  and  his  fondness  for  Ellen  too  great,  for  him 
not  to  be  delightedly  interested  in  what  was  said  of  her. 
And  however  strong  might  have  been  his  desire  to  dismiss 
his  guest  in  a  very  summary  manner,  or  to  treat  him  with 
haughty  reserve,  the  graceful  dignity  of  Mr.  Humphreys' 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


327 


manners  made  either  expedient  impossible.  Mr.  Lindsay  felt 
constrained  to  meet  him  on  his  own  ground — the  ground  of 
high-bred  frankness  ;  and  grew  secretly  still  more  afraid  that 
his  real  feelings  should  be  discerned. 

Ellen,  from  afar,  where  she  could  not  hear  the  words, 
watched  the  countenances  with  great  anxiety  and  great  ad- 
miration. She  could  see  that  while  her  brother  spoke  with 
his  usual  perfect  ease,  Mr.  Lindsay  was  embarrassed.  She 
half  read  the  truth.  She  saw  the  entire  politeness  where  she 
also  saw  the  secret  discomposure,  and  she  felt  that  the 
politeness  was  forced  from  him.  As  the  conversation  went 
on,  however,  she  wonderingly  saw  that  the  cloud  on  his  brow 
lessened, — she  saw  him  even  smile ;  and  when  at  last  they 
rose,  and  she  drew  near,  she  almost  thought  her  ears  were 
playing  her  false  when  she  heard  Mr.  Lindsay  beg  her  bro- 
ther to  go  in  with  him  to  the  company  and  be  presented  to 
Mrs.  Lindsay.  After  a  moment's  hesitation  this  invitation 
was  accepted,  and  they  went  together  into  the  drawing- 
room. 

Ellen  felt  as  if  she  was  in  a  dream.  With  a  face  as  grave 
as  usual,  but  with  an  inward  exultation  and  rejoicing  in  her 
brother  impossible  to  describe,  she  saw  him  going  about 
among  the  company, — talking  to  her  grandmother, — yes  and 
her  grandmother  did  not  look  less  pleasant  than  usual, — re- 
cognizing M,  Muller,  and  in  conversation  with  other  people 
whom  he  knew.  With  indescribable  glee  Ellen  saw  that  Mr. 
Lindsay  managed  most  of  the  time  to  be  of  the  same  group. 
Never  more  than  that  night  did  she  triumphantly  think  that 
Mr.  John  could  do  anything.  He  finished  the  evening  there. 
Ellen  took  care  not  to  seem  too  much  occupied  with  him ; 
but  she  contrived  to  be  near  when  he  was  talking  with  M. 
Muller,  and  to  hang  upon  her  father's  arm  when  he  was  in 
Mr.  John's  neighborhood.  And  when  the  latter  had  taken 
leave,  and  was  in  the  hall,  Ellen  was  there  before  he  could 
be  gone.    And  there  came  Mr.  Lindsay  too  behind  her ! 

"  You  will  come  early  to-morrow  morning,  John?" 

"  Come  to  breakfast,  Mr.  Humphreys,  will  you  ?"  said  Mr. 
Lindsay,  with  sufficient  cordiality. 

But  Mr.  Humphreys  dechned  this  invitation,  in  spite  of 
the  timid  touch  of  Ellen's  fingers  upon  his  arm,  which  begged 
for  a  different  answer. 


828  THE   WIDE,  "WIDE  WORi  JD. 


"  I  will  be  with  you  early,  Ellie,"  he  said  however. 
And  0  !  John,"  said  Ellen  suddenly,    "order  a  horse 
and  let  us  have  one  ride  together ;  let  me  show  you  Edin- 
burgh." 

"  By  all  means,"  said  Mr.  Lindsay, — **  let  us  show  you 
Edinburgh  ;  but  order  no  horses,  Mr.  Humphreys,  for  mine 
are  at  your  service." 

Ellen's  other  hand  was  gratefully  laid  upon  her  father's 
arm  as  this  second  proposal  was  made  and  accepted, 

"  Let  us  show  you  Edinburgh,"  said  Ellen  to  herself,  as  she 
and  Mr.  Lindsay  slowly  and  gravely  went  back  through  the 
hall.  "  So  !  there  is  an  end  of  my  fine  morning  ! — But  how- 
ever, how  foolish  I  am  !  John  has  his  own  ways  of  doing 
things — he  can  make  it  pleasant  in  spite  of  everything." 

She  went  to  bed,  not  to  sleep  indeed,  for  a  long  time,  but 
to  cry  for  joy  and  all  sorts  of  feelings  at  once. 

Good  came  out  of  evil,  as  it  often  does,  and  as  Ellen's  heart 
presaged  it  would  when  she  arose  the  next  morning.  The 
ride  was  preceded  by  half  an  hour's  chat  between  Mr.  John, 
Mr.  Lindsay,  and  her  grandmother  ;  in  which  the  delight  of 
the  evening  before  was  renewed  and  confirmed.  Ellen  was 
obhged  to  look  down  to  hide  the  too  bright  satisfaction  she 
felt  was  shining  in  her  face.  She  took  no  part  in  the  conversa- 
tion, it  was  enough  to  hear.  She  sat  with  charmed  ears, 
seeing  her  brother  overturning  all  her  father's  and  grandmo- 
ther's prejudices,  and  making  his  own  way  to  their  respect  at 
least,  in  spite  of  themselves.  Her  marveling  still  almost  kept 
even  pace  with  her  joy.  "  I  knew  he  would  do  what  he 
pleased,"  she  said  to  herself, — "  1  knew  they  could  not  help 
that ;  but  I  did  not  dream  he  wouid  ever  make  them  like 
him, — that  I  never  dreamed  !" 

On  the  ride  again,  Ellen  could  not  wish  that  her  father 
were  not  with  them.  She  wished  for  nothing  ;  it  was  all  a 
maze  of  pleasure,  which  there  was  nothing  to  mar  but  the 
sense  that  she  would  by-and-by  wake  up  and  find  it  was  a 
dream.  And  no,  not  that  either.  It  was  a  solid  good  and 
blessing,  which  though  it  must  come  to  an  end,  she  should 
never  lose.  F or  the  present  there  was  hardly  anything  to  be 
thought  of  but  enjoyment.  She  shrewdly  guessed  that  Mr. 
Lindsay  would  have  enjoyed  it  too,  but  for  herself ;  there  was 
a  little  constraint  about  him  still,  s^he  could  see.    There  was 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


329 


none  about  Mr.  John  ;  in  the  delight  of  his  words  and 
looks  and  presence,  Ellen  half  the  time  forgot  Mr.  Lindsay 
entirely  ;  she  had  enough  of  them  ;  she  did  not  for  one  mo- 
ment wish  that  Mr.  Lindsay  had  less. 

At  last  the  long  beautiful  ride  came  to  an  end ;  and  the 
rest  of  the  morning  soon  sped  away,  though  as  Ellen  had  ex- 
pected she  was  not  permitted  to  spend  any  part  of  it  alone 
with  her  brother.  Mr.  Lindsay  asked  him  to  dinner,  but  this 
was  declined. 

Not  till  long  after  he  was  gone  did  Ellen  read  Mr. 
Humphreys'  letter.    One  bit  of  it  may  be  given. 

"  Mr.  Van  Brunt  has  lately  joined  our  little  church.  This 
has  given  me  great  pleasure.  He  had  been  a  regular  at- 
tendant for  a  long  time  before.  He  ascribes  much  to  your 
instrumentality;  but  says  his  first  thoughts  (earnest  ones)  on 
the  subject  of  religion  were  on  the  occasion  of  a  tear  that  fell 
from  Ellen's  eye  upon  his  hand  one  day  when  she  was  talk- 
ing to  him  about  the  matter.  He  never  got  over  the  impres- 
sion. In  his  own  words,  *  it  scared  him  1'  That  was  a  dear 
child  !  I  did  not  know  how  dear  till  I  had  lost  her.  1  did 
not  know  how  severely  I  should  feel  her  absence ;  nor  had  I 
the  least  notion  when  she  w^as  with  us  of  many  things  re- 
specting her  that  I  have  learnt  since.  I  half  hoped  we  should 
yet  have  her  back,  but  that  will  not  be.  I  shall  be  glad  to 
see  you,  my  son." 

The  correspondence  with  John  was  begun  immediately, 
and  was  the  delight  of  Ellen's  life.  Mrs.  Lindsay  and  her 
daughter  wished  to  put  a  stop  to  it ;  but  Mr.  Lindsay  dryly 
said  that  Mr.  Humphreys  had  frankly  spoken  of  it  before  him, 
and  as  he  had  made  no  objection  then  he  could  not  now. 

Ellen  puzzled  herself  a  little  to  think  what  could  be  the 
third  thing  John  wanted  of  her  ;  but  whatever  it  were,  she 
was  very  sure  she  would  do  it ! 

For  the  gratification  of  those  who  are  never  satisfied,  one 
word  shall  be  added,  to  w^it,  that 

The  seed  so  early  sown  in  little  Ellen's  mind,  and  so  care- 
fully tended  by  sundry  hands,  grew  in  course  of  time  to  all 
the  fair  stature  and  comely  perfection  it  had  bid  fair  to  reach 
— storms  and  winds  that  had  visited  it  did  but  cause  the 
root  to  take  deeper  hold ; — and  at  the  point  of  its  young 
maturity  it  happily  fell  again  into  those  hands  that  had  of  all 


330 


THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD. 


been  most  successful  in  its  culture. — In  other  words,  to  speak 
intelligibly,  Ellen  did  in  no  wise  disappoint  her  brother's 
wishes,  nor  he  hers,  Three  or  four  more  years  of  Scottish 
discipline  wrought  her  no  ill ;  they  did  but  serve  to  temper 
and  beautify  her  Christian  character ;  and  then,  to  her  un- 
speakable joy,  she  went  back  to  spend  her  life  with  the 
friends  and  guardians  she  best  loved,  and  to  be  to  them,  still 
more  than  she  had  been  to  her  Scottish  relations,  the  "  light 
of  the  eyes." 


TEB  nzm. 


s 


